Tell Me A Story
by Mad Writer in Manila
Summary: For there is a child in each of us. Go back to your roots. Look back on the wealth of culture that you possess. You will see that it is our stories that tie us all together. An anthology of traditional tales retold through Hetalia and set within a frame story. Warnings: Fairy tales can ruin your childhood, ironically. Reviews are much appreciated.
1. Please Tell Me A Story

**Author's Notes: This is going to be an anthology of fairy tales, folktales, legends, myths and other traditional tales from around the world rewritten to feature Hetalia characters. Traditional tales are a particular field of interest for me and having the opportunity to work on this project is a pleasure. The theme was a writing challenge from Serenity Prime that was supposed to have been written months ago. Well, here is the first chapter. **

**Warnings: some disturbing themes, violence, genderbending here and there, lots and lots of OCs, the truth behind fairy tales that may ruin your childhood**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and any of the fairy tales that will be featured**

**Dedication: For Serenity, from whom the brilliant idea for this came, and Lyssa, my best friend and muse, who probably received the brunt of my childhood-ruining tales.**

* * *

"Ahem." Somebody cleared his throat. "May I please have your attention?"

The world went on as it usually did, as if nobody had spoken.

Once more, United Nations, or UN, as he was more commonly known, cleared his throat. "Quiet down, everybody," he said. "I have an announcement to make."

Like before, the world continued to ignore him, too wrapped up in their own affairs and arguments to even listen to him.

That's how it usually was, anyway. He was only important as long as he was doing something to help them. Failing that, he was something to be ignored at best and outright mocked at worst. To be fair, he was useful enough most of the time to be noticed. This just so happened to be one of those times that he wasn't.

"Excuse me. This announcement is really important." He attempted to attract their attention once more. "This concerns everybody."

He failed, just as before. If anything did happen, it was the noise in the meeting room getting louder.

"It's mine! It's always been mine and you know it!"

"No, it's mine, you thief! If you actually do a bit of research, you would know that it is, in fact, mine."

"You are a big shame to the world!"

"This again!? For the last time, Calderon dolphins aren't real!"

"Who are you to say that I don't deserve to be in the EU!? You're the one who should be kicked out for being a backward-thinking old man."

"Shouting wouldn't change the fact that what you are doing is dangerous not only for yourself but to your neighbours as well."

"Well? Aren't you going to intervene? Say something!"

"Stop acting like children!"

"Awesome!"

That's it. He'd had enough of this madness.

With as much force as he could manage with his child-like body, he slammed his fists down on the podium. "Just shut up for five minutes!" It would already be a feat to be able to scream over the noise with a microphone, but he somehow managed to accomplish it without one. "It's not like it's going to kill you to actually listen, from time to time," he added more quietly.

At that, the entire room quieted down except for a single brave and foolish soul asking about why UN was throwing a temper tantrum.

"Much better," he muttered. He breathed out slowly to calm himself before addressing the nations of the world. "We are all well aware of how little progress we make during these world meetings," he began. "And, I'm certain you know why that is, exactly." Even without outright saying it with words, everybody already knew that the reason they weren't able to accomplish as much as they wanted to was because they could never all get along. "Which is why I have a proposal to promote understanding between the different nations of the world."

UN paused, more to survey the faces around him than for effect. Nobody seemed to be complaining. So far, this was going much better than he had expected.

"I want you all to go back to your roots," he continued. "Look back on the wealth of culture that you possess. Choose a fairy tale, a folk tale, a legend, a myth, any story of that sort. Rewrite it to feature yourself and nations you have had contact with over the course of history. The purpose of this activity is to both to create a deeper appreciation of each other and to better express yourselves. Be creative. This is your chance to let others get to know you more, so I highly encourage you to take this as seriously as possible. I will set a date and venue for all of us to meet and share what you have written."

An unusual stillness and silence had settled over the room.

UN began to feel a little uncomfortable with this uncharacteristic quietness. "That's it."

Most of the world broke out into thunderous laughter while those who were less inclined to such behaviour were either trying very hard to hide their snickering or just looking down to hide whatever expression was on their face.

"What?" UN loudly asked, failing to understand what was so funny.

Prussia, ever brave yet very foolish, raised his hand, fighting back his laughter as he stood up. "If you wanted a fairy tale, kid, you should've just asked," he said through chuckles. "I would've been glad to tell you the ones I know."

"Despite my physical appearance, I'm not actually a child, you know," UN pointed out, keeping a calm appearance on his face although he was sure everybody could see how red his ears were; getting angry wasn't the solution to this problem.

"Compared to me, you are a child," replied Prussia, still trying to suppress his snickers. "So which story did you want to hear so badly that you had to make this up just to get me to tell it to you?"

"This is not about –"

"Don't be shy about it," Prussia interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "I know you love it when I tell you stories before you go to bed. So which one is it?"

"I don't want you to tell me bedtime stories!" UN said, beginning to get irritated with Prussia, who wasn't supposed to be here anyway.

"Of course, he doesn't want to hear your stories, Prussia," said another, more feminine voice from the other side of the room.

UN looked at the speaker, the West African nation of Ghana, with long strings of colourful beads around her neck. She was looking at Prussia, but she turned towards UN and smiled at him.

"You don't want to listen to his stories, right?" she asked.

He nodded; finally, someone with some sense in this room.

"You want to listen to my anansesem," she said, her smile widening. Then, she turned back towards Prussia. "Why would he want to listen to your fairy tales that have been told and retold over and over again, when he could listen to my Anansi stories?"

UN could only groan.

"What makes your stories so much better than mine?" Prussia demanded, crossing his arms.

"What makes you think they aren't better than yours?" was Ghana's simple reply.

"He might want to listen to the tales collected by Asbjørnsen and Moe," Norway joined in. "Those are relatively obscure. He would enjoy them."

"Don't be foolish, Norway," Denmark said, slinging an arm over his fellow Nordic's shoulders. "All your stories suck. Everybody knows that the best fairy tales were written by Hans Christian Andersen, a Dane, I remind you. What child hasn't heard of The Ugly Duckling, The Little Match Girl, and The Little Mermaid?"

"Fairy tales are born from oral tradition," Norway said, shrugging off Denmark's arm. "Those are Andersen's original stories. They don't count."

"They do, too. You're just jealous that mine are the best." A mischievous smile appeared on Denmark's face. "How about we have a bet? If I can prove that Andersen's stories count as fairy tales, you'll have to pay for the beer for an entire month. If I lose, then I'll buy the beer."

Norway stared impassively at Denmark. "Prepare to lose money, then."

"My fairy tales are still the best!" Prussia announced loudly, probably feeling left out by this point.

"Fairy tales originated from Korea, da-ze!"

From there, it devolved into everybody arguing over whose stories were the best and whose were the most horrible. Many had stood up and, in some parts of the room, the arguments had become quite physical and everybody was shouting just so they could be heard. At this rate, they would never get anything done, as was often the case anyway, in UN's opinion. That was why he felt the need to have this activity in the first place.

"Enough of this!" Germany, forever the voice of reason and keeper of order, shouted.

Everybody suddenly became quiet and headed back to their chairs sheepishly.

"Thank you, Germany," UN said with a nod.

"When will this 'storytelling session' be?" Germany asked, taking out his planner. "You neglected to announce the date."

This was what UN liked about Germany: He was always so efficient.

"I am giving you fourteen days to finish writing your stories," he said. "It will be held in this meeting room and would start at exactly 5:00 pm. Be here an hour before. Bring sleeping bags, mats or mattresses and pillows, toiletries, pyjamas or whatever you prefer to wear, at least three changes of clothes, snacks and drinks, and other such necessities, such as medicine, if you need them. All other things will be provided for you. Everybody is invited, even those who are not registered members of the UN, so I expect you to inform them. Any questions?"

Poland raised his hand.

"Yes, Poland," UN said.

"So you mean we're, like, having a giant slumber party?" he asked, girlishly twirling a lock of his hair around his pointer.

"No, we are not having a slumber party," UN said, punctuating his sentence with a sigh. "Any other questions?"

Prussia and Denmark raised their hands at the same time.

"No. Alcohol is not allowed."

The two lowered their hands slowly.

"Any other relevant questions," he asked again.

"If I may?" France asked, raising his hand.

At least, this seemed to be a seriously question. "Please do."

"I was just wondering about the stories we are supposed to be writing," France said. "Are there any guidelines we need to follow?"

UN hadn't really thought about the guidelines yet. In fact, it hadn't even crossed his mind that they would need guidelines. It was a good thing France brought it up or they would probably end up with a lot of strange creations that would possibly scar him for life.

"First off," he said, pretending that he hadn't just thought about the rules now. "You are to keep your stories relatively clean. I am not hindering you from including some mature content if the story requires it, but, please, keep everything in good taste."

There were murmurs of assent and protest throughout the room.

"Second: You are not to use each other's names in the stories," he continued. "Make some names up."

"But why?" Italy asked, raising his hand.

"Have you ever heard of a character named Italy?" Prussia answered.

Italy thought for a while. "No."

"Then, you have your answer."

"Thank you, Prussia," UN said. In truth, his reason was to create a degree of distance between the character and the nation since he didn't think everybody would be mature enough to be trusted not to make a scene when they get cast in a role they do not like, but Prussia's explanation was probably better. "Third and last," he said. "Although I encourage you to be creative and express yourself, you are not to use this activity as an excuse to provoke other nations. I remind you that this activity is for the promotion of peace and understanding, not for the creation of war."

"That seems reasonable," France said. "Anything else?"

"As for the presentations," UN continued, taking an authoritative tone. "You are not allowed to interrupt while somebody is telling their story. You are only allowed to say something after the story is finished. Everybody is expected to be civil when doing such. Understood? Other questions? Speak up if you want to say anything."

France raised his hand again. "Are we allowed to change the genders of the characters as the story requires?"

"Do you mean changing the wicked stepmother into a man?" UN asked, confused by the question.

"Oui," France said. "And, changing, for example, England into a woman for the purpose of the story."

"Yes, that would be allowed," UN said before anybody could comment on France's choice of example.

"Are we allowed to use the same nation twice in the story?" asked Spain.

"If you really must. Okay, last question."

America raised his hand, slow and almost timid, unlike his usual self-confident, energetic self; it was actually kind of odd how he hadn't spoken up ever since the announcement was made.

"Yes, America?"

"Does Disney count as part of my country's traditional stories and 'wealth of culture' you were talking about?" he asked in a mumbling voice.

"No."

They were not having this discussion.

"But, I don't –'

"No. End of discussion."

* * *

Presentation day came and America continued to stare at the blank first page of the composition notebook he bought specifically for this activity. In less than an hour, they would be reading their stories aloud and he had written absolutely nothing. He had to think fast.

It wasn't that he didn't try to do the activity. In fact, he spent two weeks trying to think up a really cool idea for a story. He had to know at least one story that he could share and, when he wrote it, it was going to be the best story ever. For endless hours, he thought of all the exciting stories he knew, but Disney kept popping up and he couldn't think of much else. Even when he thought of something that wasn't Disney-related, it was some story another country had told him.

He just didn't have any stories of his own. It was so unfair.

"We'll be starting in fifteen minutes," UN announced loudly. "There are refreshments at the buffet table near the door. Feel free to help yourselves."

America scratched his head. Only fifteen more minutes and he still hadn't come up with even a single sentence.

"I can't be the only one without my own stories," he thought. "There has to be someone else. Like…like Canada!"

He ran to find Canada, jumping over sleeping bags and mats and nearly knocking over China's little house in the corner. This would have been a lot easier if Canada wasn't so invisible. Finally, he found Canada sitting on his sleeping bag and reading something in a notebook with Kumajiro on his lap.

"Hey, bro!" America said a little too loudly, plopping down next to him. "How's your story?"

Canada nearly jumped in surprise when America popped up beside him.

"It's okay," he said, snapping his notebook shut.

"Let me see it," America said, reaching for the notebook that Canada struggled to keep away from him.

"No!" Canada fell backwards and lied down on the notebook. "You can't see it!"

"Come on, man…" America pleaded. "I haven't written anything yet. How'd you come up with a story anyway?"

"You better get writing, then," Canada said, still not letting him see what he had written.

"But –"

"Okay, let us start," UN said, taking his place at the head of the meeting room that had been turned into a giant bedroom. "America, you will tell the first story."

America looked down at the blank first page of his notebook.

* * *

**More Author's Notes: I know that it is not much right now, but I needed to get the frame story out of the way first. **

**Yes, I am aware that America has a wealth of Native American folk tales which are very interesting. **

**Featured here are two of my OCs, United Nations and Ghana.**

**Regarding UN: I purposefully left out UN's description because of the racism comments that are sure to pop up if I came up with any description of him. Originally, he was meant to not look human at all, but it seemed more likely that he would be personified the same way the nations were personified. Imagine him however way you wish. However, I did make him a child because the goals of the UN can be considered idealistic and, therefore, child-like and it is quite young in comparison to the nations.**

**Regarding Ghana: I really wanted to include Ghana because of the anansesem, or Anansi stories, which are some of the better-known stories of Africa. I made her female because the dominant ethnic group of Ghana, the Akan, are matrilineal. Ghanaians are known for and stereotyped as answering questions with questions, which is basically what she did with Prussia.**

**If you have any suggestions for OCs or fairy tales, I would be very happy if you share them. You could share them through reviews, PMs or through this forum: topic/121744/80343373/1/Tell-Me-A-Story-Suggestions **


	2. Mutti: She Killed Me, Vati: He Ate Me

**Author's Note: Please do take note that the stories featured are rewritten to fit the characters so, while the basic plot is the same, I changed the story so it is not exactly the same as the original. All additional information will be revealed at the end of the chapter.**

**Chapter-Specific Warnings: violence, some disgusting themes, cannibalism**

* * *

If the blank page had eyes, it would probably be staring back at America, as well. The staring competition becoming weird and uncomfortable, he looked up, only to be greeted by an even more awkward scenario. Everybody was looking at him, waiting for him to say or do something and he had absolutely nothing. For once in his life, America wished that he could be invisible like Canada.

"Well?" UN asked him expectantly. "Don't be shy. Come up here to the podium and share your story with us."

America looked back down at the page and covered it with his hands.

"You see…" His voice died in his throat as he tried to think up a good excuse.

"Yes?"

Being stared at by everyone wasn't really helping him make up some improbable story as to why he didn't have a story in the first place.

"Well… I sorta…" He had to stall for time. If he kept this up for long enough, either UN would give up and choose someone else or he might just think up a brilliant idea that would blow everybody's minds. That's the plan for now.

UN exhaled slowly in the same way he usually did when he was losing his patience. "America, just –"

"I'm back from the bathroom, everybody!" Prussia loudly declared as he entered the room like such an act required an announcement. "Your first storyteller is here!"

To America, he was a godsend.

"Prussia, America had already been chosen as the first storyteller," UN explained.

Prussia looked at America as if studying his every move right down to the shallowest of breaths. America stared back, trying to will himself into developing telepathy just so he could tell Prussia that he didn't want to go first. After looking at him for what seemed to be hours but was actually just a minute, Prussia turned towards UN.

"I'm starting," he said simply. "He obviously doesn't want to."

America breathed out in relief.

"Is that right, America?" UN inquired.

America nodded vigorously. "I-I'm saving mine for later," he said, trying to make his voice sound less relieved than he felt. "We need to get everybody warmed up before you could listen to my amazing story; the epicness might make your head explode if you have me go first."

"Right…" UN didn't sound so convinced, but he wasn't complaining so it was still good. "It appears we would be starting the activity with Prussia."

"Good," Prussia said as he strode towards the podium. "You should always begin activities like these with an experienced storyteller, not some amateur."

"Aren't you going to get your notebook or notes first?" UN asked him.

Prussia grinned and ruffled UN's hair. "Don't need any," he said and pointed to his head. "It's all in here."

UN didn't seem too happy with being treated like a child, but he remained calm. "The floor is yours, then," he said as he retreated to his tiny mattress some feet off to the side of the podium.

"Okay, let's get this activity started," Prussia said, taking his place at the podium. "Somebody here was complaining two weeks ago about my stories being told too much." He shot a look at Ghana who merely gave him a mocking smirk. "So I decided to tell one that I haven't told as often. Just a fair warning," he continued in a grave voice so unlike his usual tone. "Fairy tales are no strangers to the darker side of humanity."

* * *

**Meine Mutti: She Killed Me; Mein Vati: He Ate Me**

There was once a maiden, a lovely girl full life and wonder who spent her days in the company of nature, wandering and singing. She had a voice so beautiful that the birds would come down from the trees, entranced, just to hear her sing. For this, the villagers called her Daina, which meant "song".

One day, the birds stopped singing as if there was a great danger approaching. In the winter of that year, men dressed in iron mail and helms of steel from faraway lands came to her village bearing arms. They were not there to fight, they said, but to save them from themselves and the darkness that lay within their hearts, but they could not have been the saviours they claimed themselves to be for they killed many who did not agree with them and the snow steamed and turned red with the blood that they spilled.

Daina ran. She ran into the forest, away from the sounds of battle and death. Behind her, the terrible moans of the fallen continued to follow deeper into the woods and she knew that she would be among them if she did not run faster.

She tried to escape, but a young warrior with hair of gold blocked her path. She was trapped, so she did the only thing she could do: She tried to kill him, even if the only weapons she had were her bare hands and the shawl around her shoulders. She hated him. He killed her people, but she was going to kill him before he killed her.

The warrior, Adalbert, didn't want to fight. He couldn't bring himself to kill this girl who looked so sweet and lovely and frightened but fought back with the ferocity of a wild animal. He threw down his sword at her feet in surrender.

At that moment, Daina realized that the man before her was not an enemy, but there was still the danger of swords behind them, so they fled to a distant place where they could never be followed and lived as husband and wife. Although she had hated him at first, Daina eventually grew to truly love her husband and they lived peacefully in the little cottage that they built. For many years, nothing disturbed their quiet lives: Adalbert became a hunter and Daina tended to a small vegetable garden near their house.

One winter day, Daina, heavy with child, stood beneath the juniper tree in her little garden, peeling apples while her husband was away in the forest. Accidentally, she cut her finger and her blood trickled down onto the snow, deep red against immaculate whiteness. Years ago, the sight had frightened her, but, now, nothing could have been more beautiful in her eyes.

"I wish I could have a child as white as snow and as red as blood," she said softly.

Her wish was granted and she gave birth to a son as white as newly-fallen snow, from the tufts of flaxen hair on his head to the soles of his tiny feet, except for his eyes which were as red as freshly-shed blood. The new mother never got to hold her child for she died almost as soon as he had been born. With her very last breath, she named him and died with a smile on her lips.

Gilbert, as his mother had named him, grew to be a playful lad. He was an active and inquisitive boy, always out in the garden, tending to the plants his dear mother had grown, or exploring the forests near their home. The villagers knew him as a troublemaker, forever bringing mischief wherever he went, and his father never heard the end of their complaints. There never seemed to be a day when somebody didn't come to the door of their house to tell Adalbert of the trouble his son had caused in the village.

"The little hellion plugged all my flutes with mud," the reedmaker, an irritable man by the name of Roderich, complained one day.

"He got into my house and broke my frying pan," Erzsébet said another day as she twisted Gilbert's ear and held up the pan that she had dented when she had whacked him over the head.

Unable to control his son, Adalbert decided to marry again, hoping that having a mother around would keep Gilbert out of trouble. He married Gisela, a beautiful woman with blonde hair and blue eyes who had been rumoured to be very good with children. However, she did not like Gilbert at all, giving him hard work to do while she doted on Monika, her own daughter with Adalbert.

Gilbert, being of a naturally cheerful and amiable demeanour, bore no grudge against his stepmother and loved his half-sister dearly. The more time he spent with her, the less he spent playing tricks and causing mischief in the village and the villagers were very thankful for that. He always took care of her and played with her, showing her all the great things that he had discovered in the forest.

"My mother is buried beneath this tree," he told her one day as they sat in the branches of the juniper tree. "When I die, I want you to bury me here, too."

Monika looked at him and frowned. "Don't joke about things like that," she said. "It's not funny."

Gilbert merely threw his head back and laughed. "You're always so serious, you know?"

"And you're never serious enough," she said with a sigh. "Come now. We still have to dig up the potatoes. It's best to get things done before it gets too dark."

With a nod, Gilbert dropped to the ground and helped Monika down the tree. They got to work, diligently digging up the potatoes and placing them in a basket so that they would have something to eat when their father got home. Before long, they had dug up all the potatoes and all that was left to do was to wash them.

"I will go get us a bucket," Gilbert said as he headed back towards the cottage.

For a while now, Gisela had been haunted by dark thoughts. She wanted her own daughter to inherit all of what little wealth Adalbert could leave to his children and, to achieve that, she had to get rid of Gilbert, so she decided to kill him. It would be easy, since the boy had always trusted her completely.

She filled a heavy-lidded chest with fine red apples and waited for her stepson to enter the house.

"Here. Get some apples for you and your sister," she told him, leading him towards the chest.

Without suspicion, Gilbert followed his stepmother and, when he had leaned down over the chest, she mercilessly slammed the lid down on his neck.

Almost as soon as Gilbert's head was severed from his body, Gisela was overcome with fear. She had not planned of what to do when she had killed her stepson. Surely, someone would find out about her dark deed. She had to hide what she had done, so she carefully drained away all his blood and washed him clean so that no trace remained. Then, she sat him on the chair beside the door with an apple in his hands, his head tied to his neck with a handkerchief.

A while later, Monika returned with their basket of potatoes, cross that Gilbert had not returned with the bucket. Seeing him sitting idly by the door, she addressed him exasperatedly. "I should have known you would have run away," she said, but he didn't answer. "I had to wash the potatoes at the well all by myself while you were here eating."

When he still didn't answer, she went inside the house and found her mother cleaning the floor.

"Mutti, Gilbert didn't do his chores today," she said as she put her basket on the table. "He left me to do everything."

"Go tell him that I want to see him and if he doesn't come, grab his ear and drag him inside," Gisela said.

Monika did as she was told and told her brother to go inside the house. Once more, he did not answer, so she grabbed him by the ear and his head came off when she tried to yank him forward. Thinking that she had killed her own brother, she ran to her mother in tears with her brother's head cradled in her arms.

"Do not cry," Gisela told her daughter comfortingly. "Nobody will ever find out what you had done."

She had the perfect plan. She chopped up his body so that nobody would be able to recognize him, ground the meat and used his intestines to make wurst. When her husband came home from hunting, she cooked the wurst and served it with mashed potatoes.

"Where is Gilbert?" Adalbert asked as they all sat down to eat.

"He's around, I'm sure," Gisela assured him. "He'll be in a while."

Adalbert nodded and continued to eat. "Monika, why aren't you eating?" he asked his daughter, noticing that she had not touched her plate.

"I'm not hungry," she replied. She felt sick to her stomach.

Excusing herself from the table, she went to the kitchen where she gathered up her brother's bones in her cape. She snuck out into the garden and buried his bones beneath the juniper tree where he had told her his mother was. When she was done, she wept over his grave, her tears red like blood.

As she left to go back inside, a little yellow bird flew out from the branches of the juniper tree. It went to Erzsébet's house, alighted on her windowsill, and began to sing.

_Meine Mutti: she killed me,_

_Mein Vati: he ate me,_

_And my little sister, Monika:_

_Gathered up all my bones,_

_Wrapped them in her woollen cape,_

_And laid them to rest beneath the juniper tree,_

_Come out and listen to my song._

Erzsébet opened her window, delighted by the little bird's song. "Little yellow bird," she said. "If you sing for me again, I will give you one of my daggers in exchange. Would you like that?"

The bird sang again and Erzsébet gave him a beautiful dagger with a finely-sharpened edge which he carried off to the juniper tree.

Next, he went to the house of the grouchy reedmaker. Perched on the branch of the tree beside his workshop's window, he began to sing.

_Meine Mutti: she killed me,_

_Mein Vati: he ate me,_

_And my little sister, Monika:_

_Gathered up all my bones,_

_Wrapped them in her woollen cape,_

_And laid them to rest beneath the juniper tree,_

_Come out and listen to my song._

Being a lover of music, Roderich stuck his head out the window to listen to the bird better. "Little yellow bird," he called out. "Please sing for me again and I will give you one of my whistles."

The bird sang again and gained a whistle that could mimic the sound of ducks so well that they approached anyone who blew it which he brought to the juniper tree.

Then, he went to the stone house on a hill where a man named Toris lived with his eccentric wife. He perched on the windowsill and began to sing.

_Meine Mutti: she killed me,_

_Mein Vati: he ate me,_

_And my little sister, Monika:_

_Gathered up all my bones,_

_Wrapped them in her woollen cape,_

_And laid them to rest beneath the juniper tree,_

_Come out and listen to my song._

Toris opened the window and saw the little bird. "Felicja, there's a strange bird singing at our window," he called to his wife in a frightened voice.

"Let me hear!" Felicja answered, pushing past her husband to see the little bird for herself. "Sing for me again, little yellow bird."

Once more, the little bird sang his mournful song.

Felicja clasped her hands together in glee. "We should, like, give him a gift!" she told her husband.

"But what do we give to a bird?" Toris asked his wife.

Felicja retreated to the kitchen with a thoughtful look on her face. "We could give him this," she said when she returned, producing a grinding stone.

"How can he even carry that?" Toris said in disbelief.

The little yellow bird didn't seem to mind and carried the grinding stone off to the juniper tree with an unnatural strength. Once the items were arranged in the branches, he began to sing once more.

_Meine Mutti: she killed me,_

_Mein Vati: he ate me,_

_And my little sister, Monika:_

_Gathered up all my bones,_

_Wrapped them in her woollen cape,_

_And laid them to rest beneath the juniper tree,_

_Come out and listen to my song._

"What is that sound?" Adalbert asked when he heard the strange singing coming from outside.

Monika immediately stood up. "I will look," she said as she went outside.

She followed the singing to the foot of the juniper tree. The little bird dropped the dagger from the branches. Skilfully, she caught the dagger as it fell.

"It's so sharp," she said, testing its blade. "I will finally have something for when I work. Thank you, little yellow bird."

When she went back inside and told her tale and showed them the beautiful dagger, Adalbert went outside to check if it was true. He went to the foot of the juniper tree and the little bird dropped the whistle at his feet. He blew on it and ducks gathered around him.

"I will be able to use this when I hunt," he said as left to go back inside. "Thank you, little yellow bird."

Wanting a gift for herself as well, Gisela ran out of the house to the juniper tree, but when she stood beneath its branches to receive her gift, the little bird dropped the heavy grinding stone from the branches. It landed on her head and all she could do was cry out as it did.

Startled by the noise, Adalbert and Monika ran out into the garden, only to see Gisela dead beneath the juniper tree.

Before they could do anything else, the tree began to smoke and spark and the whole tree became engulfed in flames. They looked on as it burned to the ground and nothing was left but a pile of ashes. Everything was still for a moment, then something began to stir beneath the remains of the juniper tree and, out of the ashes, Gilbert emerged, alive and well, and told them of what Gisela had done to him.

After everything that had happened, Gilbert, Monika and Adalbert were all tired, so they went back into the house to sit down to a proper supper.

* * *

"The end," Prussia concluded. "Awesome, right?"

There was not a sound in the entire room. Everybody was staring at Prussia, stunned to varying degrees and for various reasons.

"Thank you, Prussia, for your…interesting story," UN said, breaking the silence. "Okay, does anybody have anything to say? Any questions? Clarifications?"

"If they went inside to eat supper, does that mean they ate those sausages Gisela made?" China asked, poking his head through the window of his little house.

Prussia grinned. "Maybe…"

Several nations made sounds of disgust at Prussia's ambiguous answer.

"Okay," China said as if he didn't even find the idea of eating oneself off-putting or strange.

"That's just gross, man!" America yelled, obviously upset. "Why would you even put that in your story?"

"It was in the original fairy tale," Prussia answered simply. "I already warned you that fairy tales aren't all sunshine and rainbows. You'd think that you would have been able to prepare yourself."

America shook his head. "No! I will never be prepared for your twisted imagination!"

"Moving on," UN interrupted. "Does anybody have anything else to say that doesn't fixate on their possible supper?"

"I have a question regarding the characters," Ghana said. "I understand that Gilbert is Prussia, Adalbert is Germania and Monika is Germany as a little girl."

There were several snickers somewhere in the back and Germany didn't look too pleased.

"But who are Daina and Gisela?" she continued. "If I'm allowed to ask that."

UN nodded. "You can ask, but nobody is allowed to ask before the story is over."

"Daina is Old Prussia," Prussia answered.

"Which is probably why he made her so 'awesome'," somebody in the back whispered.

"And, Gisela is Frankish Empire."

"You made Frankish Empire the villain in your story?" Germany asked. "Why did you do that?"

"It was appropriate," Prussia answered. "If you listen to my stories every once in a while, you'd know I have my reasons."

"Wait. I get it now," Ghana said. "The first part was about the conquering and Christianisation of Old Prussia and Gilbert being killed and rising from the ashes is symbolic of your end and rebirth as East Germany. Right?"

Prussia nodded. "Exactly!"

"I must admit that it's actually quite clever, Prussia," Ghana said. "I didn't think you would be such a brilliant storyteller."

"So you accept that I'm better than you?" Prussia asked with a smirk.

"I'm still better," Ghana laughed. "But you're close."

Prussia snorted. "Yeah, right!"

"Okay, break it up before a fight breaks out again," UN told the two.

"Wait, wait, wait!" America said.

UN sighed. "Is this about the wurst again? If it is, could you please just keep it to yourself?"

"It's not. Promise!" America said, a little too defensively. "I just wanted to ask why there was no romance in his story. Because I'm going to be really weirded out if somebody says the love story was between Gilbert and Monika."

"America, not all fairy tales have love stories," UN explained, a little tired with having to deal with him. "Besides, there was a love story between Adalbert and Daina."

"That hardly counts because it didn't have a happy ending," America argued.

UN exhaled slowly. "It doesn't need a happy ending. It's Prussia's decision if he wanted to give it a happy ending or not."

"But wouldn't a story be so much better if the romance had a happy end?" Italy joined in.

"Okay," UN said, giving up on trying to explain. "Does anybody here have a fairy tale with a romance that has a happy ending?"

"I could tell the next tale," Spain spoke up.

* * *

**More Author's Notes: The story for this chapter was "The Juniper Tree" which was recorded by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm.**

**Characters in the Fairy Tale: ****Gilbert - Prussia; Monika - Germany; Adalbert - Germania; Daina - Old Prussia; Gisela - Frankish Empire; Erzsébet - Hungary; Roderich - Austria; Toris - Lithuania; Felicja - Poland**

**German Words: meine Mutti - my mommy; mein Vati - my daddy**

**It was just so appropriate for Prussia, especially because of the mother's request for a "child as white as snow and as red as blood" without giving specifics, although it is usually interpreted as pale skin and red hair. There was also the little bird which reminded me of Gilbird. Also, the story was recorded in Low German, which was spoken in East Prussia, making it even more appropriate.**

**There is also a bit of history in the story that might need explaining. It was included there since it was part of UN's activity and I get to accomplish two things at once. First of all, Old Prussia was an area occupied by Baltic tribes before it was conquered and Christianised by Germanic crusaders and Prussia was created, hence the "love story" of Adalbert and Daina. The name of Adalbert is derived from the name of a Christian missionary that was tortured to death by the Old Prussians. Next, Frankish Empire, or Francia/Frankia/Frankish Realm/Frankish Kingdom, was a kingdom that occupied parts of what is now Germany and France. The first Holy Roman Emperor was a Frankish King, Charlemagne, making Frankish Empire the "mother" of Holy Roman Empire, tying together with the Germany is HRE theory that has been going around. Lastly, the end of Prussia is Germany's doing, but not entirely and what was once Prussian lands is now part of the eastern part of Germany.**

**Yes, Prussia made his mother awesome. It seems like a Prussia thing to do.**


	3. For the Love of Three Golden Tomatoes!

**Author's Note: Please be aware that I decide on which names to use depending on who the storyteller is. They will change between stories, depending on what seems to fit best. Also, I do not appropriate the names of other characters to the storyteller's culture, to make it easier to distinguish them and all foreign words within the fairy tale would be in the storyteller's native tongue since he/she is telling the story, unless it is necessary for it to be otherwise.**

**Chapter-Specific Warnings: France's very minor attempt at seducing Spain**

* * *

"Yes, thank you, Spain," UN said, unable to keep the relief from flooding his voice. "Do share your story with us."

"Just let me make a last minute change," Spain said, hunched over his notebook as he madly scribbled something with his pen.

UN nodded patiently.

As he waited, he looked around the room, trying to see if there were any signs of trouble, especially involving fighting or arguing, starting up. Nothing seemed to be out of place, except for America being unusually quiet again. He was also hunched over his own notebook, but his pen hovered unmoving over the page as he stared at the paper with a look of pure concentration. UN sighed and shook his head. After the question about the wurst, whatever it was America was thinking so hard about, he didn't want to know anymore.

Spain stood up suddenly, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Okay! Done!"

"Ah, please, Spain," UN said, turning his attention away from America. "Please tell us your story."

"Yes, Spain," Portugal said, her face carefully arranged into an expression of rapt attention and her sweet voice belying a hint of teasing. "Entertain us with your little stories."

Spain merely smiled at his "little" sister in his oblivious way as he walked past her. "Gladly, hermanita," he said cheerfully.

Portugal smiled back charmingly with a nod, probably amused by how her teasing went completely over his head. "I would love to see what you came up with this time, irmãozinho."

"I'm sure you'd love it," he said as he went over to the podium.

"Like always," Portugal assured him, her voice still bearing a playful air.

It was always this way. While Portugal was often soft-spoken and of a naturally cheerful and relaxed temperament, anything involving Spain suddenly transformed her from the elegant lady everybody was accustomed to seeing into a girl far more childish and teasing than usual. UN didn't even know what to make of it. He was lucky, the others said, because he wasn't around when the two still actually fought and, lots of times, things ended up in lots and lots of tears, although they never told him whose tears it had been. At least, he had never had to deal with anything of that sort and never will, hopefully.

"Your turn, now," Prussia said as Spain took his place behind the podium.

"Just one question before you go, mi amigo," Spain said, grasping Prussia's arm. "Was your mother really that awesome?"

"Well..." Prussia said contemplatively. "I had to get my awesome from somewhere."

Spain released his arm and nodded thoughtfully as the other nation left to go back to his own sleeping bag.

"Okay, shall I begin?" he asked, flipping his notebook open on the first page. "My tale begins in Andalusia."

* * *

**In Search of a Wife: The Price of Love is Three Golden Tomatoes**

In the old city of Granada, where the brick houses lay nestled against the foot of the Sierra Nevada, there was a youth named Antonio. He was strong and handsome and charming and he had the heart of a dreamer. With all these qualities, it was a wonder that he was not yet married.

His younger sister, Mariazinha, the only person he could consider his family ever since the untimely deaths of their parents, was the most surprised of all. Already of marriageable age herself, Mariazinha could not understand why her brother could not find himself a wife. It definitely wasn't because there were no girls interested in him, because the girls of the village would whisper to each other behind their fans as he passed by, their gazes following him until he was out of sight, for many had secretly admired him. Several times, Mariazinha had tried to find him a wife from the city, but he would always kindly turn them down and send them on their way.

"Why aren't you married yet?" she asked him one day. "Are you really set on being a bachelor all your life? Because I don't want to be an old maid and you need to get married."

"I do wish to marry someday, hermanita," Antonio replied as he tended to his beloved tomato garden. "I just haven't found the right woman."

"If you wanted, you could have your pick of any maiden from Granada," Mariazinha pointed out to him. She was already quite annoyed with him. She wanted to get married to her sweetheart, a merchant named Arthur who had come to Granada, but custom dictated that her older brother must marry before she could.

Antonio chuckled. "But none of them was the right woman," he said.

"What would be the right woman for you?" his sister asked him.

"The most beautiful woman in the world, of course," Antonio answered, punctuating his sentence with a dreamy sigh.

Mariazinha looked at him and smirked. "Is that all you want?" she asked and Antonio nodded. "Well, then, I have the perfect remedy for both our problems. Listen well and do exactly as I say. Beyond the Sierra Nevada, there is a garden where you will find a plant that bears the Three Golden Tomatoes. You must be careful to pluck them without climbing the plant. Bring them to me and I shall give you the most beautiful woman alive."

Antonio was puzzled by his sister's strange requests, but she interrupted him when he tried to ask. "Do not ask me silly questions," she had told him and she sent him off without another word to him.

Not wasting any time, Antonio set forth on the mysterious errand his sister had sent him to do and travelled up the hard white road that led to the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada. With only the sounds of nature and his own singing to keep him company, he walked and walked for many days and nights, enduring the cold winds that blew over the mountains. He kept on walking although it got colder and colder as he went higher and higher, rock and brush giving way to snow, the promise of finally finding the perfect woman keeping his tired feet moving.

After days of walking, he came upon a golden castle protected by a high wall also made of gold on all sides. Overwhelmed with curiosity, he approached the castle, wondering who would live in such a house all alone on the mountainside, and was dazzled by sun reflecting brightly on the castle and wall. At the end of the stone path that led up to the wall, there was a gate of wrought iron and, right next to it, a bell.

Antonio rung the bell and, almost as soon as he had released the rope, the gate swung open silently to let him in. There was a neat little path, lined with red rose bushes on either side, and he followed it until it led him to the golden door of the castle.

There, right next to the door, stood a tall, rosy-cheeked girl who bore herself with utmost elegance. She had long wavy hair like fine threads of gold that glittered in the most fascinating way when it caught the rays of the sun and her blue eyes were the colour of a fair summer sky. She was the most radiant and beautiful girl that Antonio had ever seen.

Antonio did his most elegant bow. "My radiant maiden, I am Antonio," he said, as he took her warm hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. "I am searching for the garden where the Three Golden Tomatoes grow. Could you tell me where I could find it?"

"Such a charming gentleman you are, Antonio," the girl said, pink lips curved into a bewitching smile. "My name is Marianne. I do not know where that garden grows, for I have never been outside this castle, but my keeper, the sun, Matthew, might know."

At this, Antonio was delighted and thanked her profusely.

"But do tell me why you are so set on finding that garden?" Marianne asked him as she stepped closer.

"I am searching for a wife and my sister had told me that if I bring her the Three Golden Tomatoes, she shall give me the most beautiful woman alive," Antonio answered.

"Why must you keep searching?" Marianne asked, caressing his cheek with her warm hand. "When you can stay here and have me?"

Antonio did as he had always done and gently rejected her. "Marianne, while you are definitely very lovely, I cannot be at peace until I have found the most beautiful girl and I could only find her when I have the Three Golden Tomatoes."

Marianne, undeterred, continued to advance upon him and he found himself backing away until he collided with somebody behind him and fell over, Marianne collapsing on top of him.

"Oh, Matthew!" Marianne gasped when she saw the man with the curly, blond locks and with golden light radiating from him. She stood up immediately and helped the two men to their feet. "When did you get here?"

"I have been here all this time," answered Matthew in a quiet voice. "And I have been trying to tell you that I don't know where the garden is, but my friend who lives in the silver castle higher up the mountain might know."

Once more, although Marianne tried to convince him to stay, Antonio was off to continue his quest. By nightfall, he saw a silver castle surrounded by a tall silver wall on all sides. Knowing that this was the castle that Matthew had talked about, he walked up to it and marvelled at how it shone with the moonlight. At the end of the path that led to it was a gate of wrought iron and, right next to it, a bell.

Antonio rang the bell and the gate swung open silently to let him in. He followed the neat path lined with the visible tops of potatoes until he reached the silver doors of the castle.

Beside it, lounged a tall, pale girl with an expression of utter boredom on her face. She was a most unusual-looking girl, with hair so fair it was like a wild cascade of silver and her crimson eyes caught and reflected light much more than they should. Still, there was something about her that made her beautiful and fascinating in her uniqueness.

Antonio approached her and did his most graceful bow. "My fair maiden, I am Antonio," he said as he tried to kiss her cool hand which she quickly jerked away. "I am searching for the garden where the Three Golden Tomatoes grow. Matthew, the sun, told me to go up here and ask if you know where it is."

Immediately, the girl's bored expression was dispelled and replaced with a sudden interest. "You are mistaken," she said. "He speaks of my brother, the moon, Ludwig. I am the glorious Maria if you cannot see. I have never been outside of this castle and it's getting boring and I don't know where to find this garden of which you speak, but silly, little Ludwig might know."

"Could you ask him for me?" Antonio asked her.

Maria looked down at him. "I don't usually give out free favours," she said. "But since I'm bored and there's never anything to do around here and I'm also curious, I just might. Still, I don't see what you might want with the Three Golden Tomatoes."

"I am in search of a bride who is the most beautiful woman in the world," Antonio answered. "And, if I can bring the Three Golden Tomatoes to my sister, she says that she will bring me the most beautiful woman alive."

"I still don't see why you would want the most beautiful girl in the world," Maria said. "Beauty is boring anyway. Still, I would ask my brother for you, since you are so pitiful, going up the Sierra Nevada alone just to look for a bride."

A little while later, Ludwig, a large, humourless man, arrived and the castle became flooded with silver light. "Maria, have you even watered the potatoes at all today?" he asked in an exasperated voice as he looked at the untidy state of the castle.

"No," Maria answered. "But there is a man here who wants to ask you where the garden of the Three Golden Tomatoes grows."

Ludwig looked at Antonio and shook his head. "I don't know where it lies, but I know somebody up the mountain who might know," he said. "Just follow the path up until you see a grey castle and, there, you will find your answer."

Once more, Antonio was off, Maria waving him farewell and wishing him luck with his quest which she called silly. This climb was longer than the last, but, by midday the next day, he came upon a castle of grey stone surrounded by a tall stone wall on all sides. He followed the path that led to the wrought iron gate, beside which was a bell.

Antonio rang the bell and the gates swung open silently to let him in. He followed the path lined with edelweiss blooms until he reached the heavy wooden doors of the stone castle.

At the table beside the door, sat a tall, elegant girl eating cake. Compared to the two he had met before her, she was rather plain, with her long dark hair and unremarkable features, and the only thing that set her apart was the blue-violet colour of her eyes. However, there was something very interesting in the poise she bore and the indifferent expression she regarded him with.

Antonio bowed before her. "My lady, I am Antonio," he said as he kissed the hand she had extended towards him. "I have been told that there is somebody here who can tell me where I can find the garden of the Three Golden Tomatoes."

"Sit down," she told him sternly and he immediately obeyed. "My name is Mariel and, in this castle, I command everything and know everything, but I know nothing of this garden, for I have never been beyond these walls. If you really wish to know, you will have to wait for my keeper, the east wind, Vash. He has been everywhere and he will surely know."

Antonio was very delighted to hear that he would finally know where to search. "Thank you for your kindness, Mariel."

"I did not tell you to speak," Mariel said to him. "You will not speak unless I tell you to and I will not allow you to ask your question unless you do everything I say. Today, you are my servant and that way you shall remain until Vash returns tonight. Do you understand?"

Antonio nodded and the rest of the day was spent doing whatever Mariel fancied. They had tea and he played the guitar in accompaniment to her piano and he told her of what it was like in Granada.

Eventually, a great wind blew through the wooden doors of the castle, making the pots and pans in the kitchen rattle against each other, signalling that Vash had arrived.

"You must hide," Mariel told him. "Surely, he would blow you over the top of Sierra Nevada if he finds you here. I shall ask him for you."

Antonio concealed himself inside a chest and listened to Mariel and Vash speaking.

"Vash, I have a question to ask of you," he heard Mariel say. "Where is the garden where the Three Golden Tomatoes grow?"

"And what has possessed you to ask that?" Vash, an intimidating man despite his slight build, asked in an impatient voice. Still, he answered her question. "If you reach the highest peak of the Sierra Nevada, you will see it overlooking a lush garden surrounded by a white wall. There, at the very centre, grows the Three Golden Tomatoes."

With that information, Antonio slipped out of the castle silently and continued on with his quest. After more days of following the road higher and higher, he finally reached the highest peak of the Sierra Nevada. There, he stood and looked out over the mountain and saw, not far before him, a lush, green garden surrounded with a high white wall, just as Vash had described it.

Delighted beyond words, Antonio ran down the path towards the garden as fast as his legs could carry him. The gate opened for him even before he could come near and he ran past it without a thought in his state of joy. Inside the garden, all sorts of flowers grew and fountains threw up jets of water and, in the centre of it all, a tall tree that resembled a gigantic tomato plant grew.

Antonio looked up at it in wonder and understood why his sister had warned him not to climb it, for nobody climbs an actual tomato tree. There, in its branches, were the Three Golden Tomatoes, enticingly glowing in the sunlight. Careful to follow his sister's orders, he jumped and jumped until he was able to snatch all three tomatoes from the branches.

The Three Golden Tomatoes finally in his possession, he could finally return home. If the journey up the Sierra Nevada had been long, the journey back to Granada seemed longer. When the roofs of the houses in Granada came into sight, his throat was dry with white dust and he could find no water to drink.

He looked at one of the tomatoes, thinking about how juicy it probably was. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to eat just one. Before he could hesitate, he took a bite out of one of the tomatoes and was surprised to find that it was hollow beneath the skin.

Out of the hole his teeth had left, a tiny maiden stepped out. Although she was no taller than his little finger, she was very lovely. Her short, curly hair was gold like wheat, her eyes were green like the spring and her pink lips bore a distinctive, cat-like smile. She wore a blue muslin dress and, on her tiny, arched feet, she wore snowy-white shoes.

As light as a falling feather, she jumped from his hand to the ground and sprang up, just as tall as he.

She was so beautiful that Antonio could only stare at her like an idiot, thinking that he had finally found the most beautiful girl in the world.

"My name is Clara," she said, unfolding her white fan so it hid her smile. "Do you have some bread?"

Antonio could only stupidly answer. "I have none."

Folding her fan once more, Clara revealed the frown that had replaced her smile. "I'm sorry, but I have to go back inside my little tomato and return to my garden."

Having said that, she became tiny once more and curled up inside the tomato skin which began to fly. Antonio tried to chase after it, but it was too fast and disappeared somewhere he could not follow it.

He was dispirited. He should have waited to get back home to Mariazinha before he even thought about touching the tomatoes. Still, he had to finish this by himself since he had already started.

Farther down the mountain, at the edge of the village, he found a cottage where an ill-tempered girl named Maricruz lived all by herself and begged her for some bread. She gave him the hardest loaf of bread she had, throwing against his head, but he didn't mind, so long as he had bread.

He broke the skin of the second tomato and another tiny maiden stepped out. He looked at her and was immediately smitten by her beauty. She was lovelier than the first maiden. A single curl stuck up from the rest of her dark brown hair, her eyes were hazel and, although she scowled at him, her lips were enticingly red. She wore a red muslin dress and she had black shoes.

She jumped down from his hand and sprang up, just as high as his shoulder. Surely, this was the loveliest maiden in the world.

"I am Lovina," she said in a voice deeper and richer than the first maiden's as she continued to scowl at him. "Do you have some bread?"

Happily, Antonio gave her the loaf. "Sí!"

"Do you have some water?" she asked him.

Antonio's heart sank. He didn't have any water to give her. "No," he said dejectedly.

With a great amount of force, she angrily threw the bread against his head and wordlessly went back inside the tomato peel and was gone.

Not giving up, Antonio looked for a stream and, there, broke the skin of the last tomato.

The tiny maiden that stepped out was the loveliest of them all. Her red-brown hair seemed afire when it reflected the light and was neatly-plaited except for a curl at the side of her face, her golden eyes looked like liquid sunlight and her eyelashes were long and dark. Most of all, she smiled at him so sweetly that he felt as if his heart would melt. Her dress was of green muslin edged with white ruffles and she wore red shoes on her tiny feet.

Lightly, she jumped from his hand and sprang up, just as high as his heart. Surely, she was the most beautiful girl in the entire world.

"My name is Feliciana," she said sweetly, her voice and face both so endearing. "Do you have some bread?"

Antonio offered her the bread.

"Do you have some water?" she asked as she accepted the bread.

Antonio scooped up some water from the stream with a tin cup he carried.

"Good, good!" Feliciana said cheerfully. "We shall share this and I shall go home with you and the two of us shall marry."

Antonio was so happy that he felt as if his heart would burst. Walking towards Granada, hand in hand with Feliciana, he considered himself to be the luckiest man alive. Still, he could not bring his wife home on foot. He had to bring her in a carriage.

"You wait for me out here," he told Feliciana when they reached an inn. "I shall go in and bargain for a carriage and a pair of horses so I might bring you home properly."

When he went in, Feliciana patiently waited in the tree that grew in the inn's courtyard. Now, Arthur, Mariazinha's sweetheart, had seen the couple walk into town and became afraid. In his heart, he was truly a womanizer and had no intention of actually marrying Mariazinha, so Antonio's lack of a wife had been convenient for him, and he had to find a way to prevent Antonio from marrying.

"Do you need anything, señor?" Feliciana asked him innocently when appeared at the foot of the tree.

Without a word, Arthur climbed the tree and stuck a magical pin into Feliciana's head, for he was also a sorcerer. Immediately, the girl was transformed into a little white dove and Arthur disappeared into the inn once more, laughing at his successful attempt to escape marriage.

While all of this was happening, Antonio had been given a free drink in the inn to celebrate his upcoming marriage and, when he stepped out into the courtyard, he could not find Feliciana anywhere. He looked around frantically for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. Depressed that he had found the most beautiful girl in the world only to lose her again, he sat down beneath the tree and heard the mournful singing of the white dove.

"Little dove," he addressed it. "What makes you so sad? Have you lost someone you love as well? Worry not. I will help you find him, although I could not find my beloved."

He took the dove and brought it home with him, still saddened by his loss.

Mariazinha took one look at him and immediately knew what had happened. "Dios mio!" she exclaimed. "Didn't I tell you to do exactly as I say?"

Antonio didn't answer and merely held out the dove to her.

"There is something strange about this dove," Mariazinha said. Her hands felt around the dove's feathers and touched the head of the magical pin at its neck. She pulled it out and, before them, stood Feliciana once more.

"Antonio!" she cried as she embraced him.

Antonio was overjoyed. "Feliciana! I thought I had lost you forever," he said. "But we are together now, so we have no need to be sad anymore."

The next day, the two were immediately wed in a lavish ceremony. The entire village attended the wedding and there was dancing and singing and feasting for days after in celebration.

* * *

"And Antonio and Feliciana lived happily ever after," Spain said, finishing up his story. "And Mariazinha found out about Arthur's womanizing ways and married a man named Lars instead," he added.

"Yay!" Italy cheered, clapping his hands. "Now, that's what I call a happy ending."

Others began clapping with Italy, words of praise accompanying their applause until somebody suddenly shouted in anger.

"You turned me into a girl!" Romano repeated, angrier than the first time. He was red in the face and his clenched fists trembled as if he was on the verge of punching Spain in the gut. "You turned me into a girl!"

"Don't worry, Romano," Spain said in his naive voice. "I let you keep your deep, man voice."

"I am going to kill you!"

Romano tried to lunge at Spain but was restrained easily by Netherlands grabbing the back of his shirt, leaving him flailing ineffectually to free himself.

"Okay. Any questions or insights?" UN asked, doing his best to ignore Romano; for now, at least, since it was much too early to get angry or give out punishments for misbehaviour.

"I have a question," Portugal said, the playfulness still not leaving her voice. "I am aware that the character of Mariazinha was meant to represent me."

Spain smiled widely and nodded.

"Who, then, are Arthur and Lars and why was it so important to state that she married Lars at the end, although there had been no previous mention of him?" Portugal continued.

"Well," Spain said, looking down at his notes. "Arthur was supposed to be England and Lars was Netherlands. And, I put that in the ending because I didn't like it when you were being too friendly with England in the past."

UN didn't speak. This was probably what they had told him about. Tears were definitely going to flow.

However, Portugal replied with her usual grace. "I see."

"Who were the girls, then?" Belgium asked him. "Besides, Lovina, of course." She looked over at Romano who was still struggling to free himself from her brother.

"Marianne was France; Maria was Prussia; Mariel was Austria; Clara was you; and Feliciana was Italy," Spain quickly enumerated.

"Then, that means you ended up with Italy?" Mexico asked, an eyebrow quirked up questioningly. "I should have known you would do that."

"Don't worry," Spain assured. "You were also there. You were Maricruz."

"How is that supposed to make me feel better?" she shouted at him. "You really need to get your head checked."

"But why Italy?" Hungary asked, curious and amused. "Why not Romano?"

Spain smiled. "Because it had been my dream to possess Italy back in my imperial days," he said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Since I didn't do it, then, at least, I could possess Italy in a story."

"Fair enough," Portugal put in.

"So you admit to your story being simple wish-fulfilment?" Austria inquired, his face showing no indication as to what he thought about being turned into a girl for the story.

Spain stopped smiling. "Well..."

Before he could answer, other nations started talking quite loudly and stating how they noticed it too, although around half probably didn't notice until Austria had pointed it out. Suddenly, other complaints were popping up, too, while some rose up in Spain's defence. UN couldn't even intervene since he was, once more, unimportant enough to be ignored.

"You could have been more creative with the names. Almost every girl had a variation of Mary in her name."

"I thought it might have been symbolic. The Virgin Mary, you know."

"Well, it's confusing. And, why was every girl apparently in love with Antonio. Isn't that a little Marty Stu-ish?"

"It's his story. He gets to make it however way he wants."

"Spain's not very good at telling believable stories..."

"Spain once told me that there was a kapre in the tree outside my house and I believed him!"

Everybody was suddenly silent as they looked curiously at the short nation who had spoken up so randomly.

"Nobody wants to know, Philippines!" America shouted, covering his ears, and everybody's attention was suddenly turned towards him. "Nobody wants to hear about whatever new monster you found in your house!"

"But it wasn't really a kapre," Philippines continued as if he didn't realize how irrelevant what he had said was. "It was actually Nigeria. Or was it Congo? Angola, maybe? I keep forgetting..."

At that moment, Netherlands, probably out of pure boredom and the inability to resist the opportunity for vengeance, decided to release Romano, who immediately charged at the unwitting and distracted Spain.

* * *

**More Author's Notes: The story for this chapter is adapted from the Spanish Andalusian folktale, "The Three Golden Oranges" as retold by Mary Gould Davis and Ralph Steele Boggs.**

**Character's in the Fairy Tale: Antonio - Spain; Mariazinha - Portugal; Marianne - France; Maria - Prussia; Mariel - Austria; Matthew - Canada; Ludwig - Germany; Vash - Switzerland; Clara - Belgium; Lovina - Romano; Feliciana - Italy; Maricruz - Mexico; Arthur - England; Lars - Netherlands**

**Spanish Words: hermanita - little sister; mi amigo - my friend; sí - yes; Dios mio! - My God!**

**Portuguese Words: irmãozinho - little brother  
**

**New OCs in need of an introduction:**

**Portugal: I made her Spain's "little sister" since, although Portugal is around three hundred years older than unified Spain, the lands that constitute Spain are older than Portugal. Portugal is geographically smaller than Spain and tends to be not as well-known in certain parts of the world, so it follows. Also, I read somewhere that the Portugal is the "little brother" while Spain is the "resented older brother". As for stereotypes, I went for the "passionate Latin" stereotype while combining it with the stereotypes that the Portuguese are more subdued than Spaniards. I also included the stereotype that Portuguese women are elegant, hence my choice of gender.**

**Mexico: I do not know much about Mexican stereotypes, so I went with some common female, Mexican stereotypes I managed to dig up, which made her dramatic, jealous and emotional. I will have to build more on this one. Of course, she has a bit of a resentment towards Spain who used to be her colonizer.**

**Philippines: Well, being Filipino myself, it was a little difficult to pick out good stereotypes. Here, you have what I managed. For the time being, all that is revealed about him is that he is very superstitious and he thinks that what he is doing is relevant although it is not. He was also a colony of Spain although not as resentful as Mexico.**

**Well, it seems pretty self-explanatory what this chapter is all about. Basically, it is Spain's wish-fulfilment. Notice how he puts the other "powerful" countries of Europe as the maidens of the castles which he cannot marry, because they are too "dominant" and, therefore, they cannot be colonized. Also, all the keepers of the maidens were actually countries that used to be beneath them, so this was sort of a role reversal, except not so much since they pretty much remain dominant in the story. There is not much history here, since the story is mostly about Spain's desires. It seems appropriate for Spain to tell a love story, him being a passionate country, after all.**

**For those who do not understand what Philippines was trying to say: A kapre is a Filipino mythological being, basically a hairy giant with a huge cigar that stays lives in trees and waylays travellers in the night. I read somewhere that the kapre is not a native to Filipino mythology but was introduced by Spaniards. Caffre was even the word used at the time for the Africans that they had brought with them. It is said they propagated the stories of kapre to scare Filipinos and keep them from helping escaped African slaves. The countries Philippines mentioned were among the countries where slaves were taken from for the slave trade. Of course, the punchline is that the average Filipino knows little about Africa.**


	4. A Curse Upon Your Face

**Author's Notes: This chapter turned out far longer than I had intended it to be. This tale is probably very familiar to most readers, but I used a version that is older and not as well-known.**

**Chapter-Specific Warnings: implied impure intentions (whatever you take that to be)**

**Shameless Self-Advertising: If you are enjoying this story, you might also like my other Hetalia fanfiction, "His Significance of Existence". Also, if you have the time, please take a minute to answer the poll on my profile.**

* * *

In the space of five minutes, UN was reduced from his usual calm and composure into a panicking, blubbering child, uselessly clutching at his hair and shouting for somebody to do something about the scene unfolding before all of them.

Nobody was helping or seemed to have the inclination to help. Either they were laughing or shaking their heads in disapproval.

"Well? Isn't anyone going to help?" UN shouted at the wall like a madman, hoping somebody would do something while his back was turned.

"Seu tolinho!" Portugal giggled from somewhere behind him.

UN whipped his head around and saw her looking at the disaster with amusement while snacking on a custard tart.

"Portugal!" he entreated, clutching at her arm. "Do something about your brother!"

Portugal smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. "Let meu irmãozinho tolo have his fun," she said.

"Does he look like he's having fun?" UN screamed, not to Portugal in particular.

Indeed, Spain did not seem to be having much fun at all, pinned beneath an irate Romano, who was doing his best to punch the male half of the Iberian Peninsula unconscious. Truly, it was not difficult to see that Romano was Rome's grandson, even if this suddenly revealed strength was the only thing to go by. Desperately, Spain tried to reason with his former ward, attempting to soothe him, between yelps as he narrowly escaped another blow aimed at his mouth, with promises of tomatoes that fell on deaf ears and a closed mind.

Philippines, who had been unfortunate enough to be standing in the way at the exact moment that Netherlands decided to release Romano, was trapped between the two like the filling between a violent sandwich. Although he tried his best to wedge his skinny body between them to keep the two as far apart as he can, he wasn't really doing much given how small he was.

"Come on, Philippines!" China shouted at him. "I raised you better than this aru! You managed to beat these two up before!"

"I raised him, too," came Spain's ignored voice. "...Just so you know."

"That was in 1521," Philippines panted. "I'm not as young as I used to be!"

"Even Mexico's doing better than you," China said, ignoring his excuse. "Show them what Asia is made of!"

True enough, Mexico was doing a much better job than him at holding Romano off from behind and managing to keep his lighter blows away from Spain, although it was quite obvious that she was getting in some punches herself. She didn't really like Spain all that much, but, if anyone was going to keep this event from devolving into some disaster because of her former boss, it would have to be her.

"Stop chatting with China and do something useful, idiota," she growled, directing a punch at Philippines's head.

"Ah, right," Philippines said with a nod. Then, he turned over so he looked up at the angry Southern Italian. "Uy, Romano, do you remember what I said to you when you were younger and Spain brought you along to my house? I brought my asuwang friend with me today."

"You what?" UN shouted at him. "You brought it here!"

"Shut up!" Mexico said through gritted teeth. "This usually works." Then, she turned back to the task at hand and hit Romano over the head with her sandal, hard enough to make a noise, but he didn't even seem to have noticed. "La Llorona is here, too, and she will take you with her. Oy, do you want that? She will come for you while calling, 'Mis hijos...' So you better stop this nonsense."

"It's not working!" UN pointed out, somewhat less frantic.

"Just wait for it to take effect!" Mexico growled at UN again. "This usually works." She hit Romano again with the sandal, then, gave Philippines a whack, too. "Bring out the belt, idiota."

"Will this do?" Philippines held out something dry, rigid and smelled like fish left out too long in the sun.

"That's a stingray tail!" Mexico said, whacking him on the head again.

Philippines yelped and hid beneath Romano. "It's good for exorcising evil spirits." He yelped again. "Aruy! Now, he's punching me, too! Stop that, Romano! Mexico! Help me!"

"That is it! I have had enough of this!"

With a sudden monstrous strength, Mexico managed to heave Romano off of Spain and Philippines and dump him off to the side where Belgium was immediately beside him.

Somebody whistled. "I wish I had a Mexican girlfriend."

"Excuse me," Mexico said, wiping her hands on her shirt. "Neither of these brujos," she jabbed a thumb back at Spain and Philippines, "is my boyfriend."

"Hey, what's wrong, Romano?" Belgium said, making everybody stop staring at Mexico.

"What's wrong?" UN said, kneeling down beside the two.

Romano was on his knees and hands, looking down at the floor like he just lost something more than an opportunity to beat Spain up. He was crying as Belgium patted his back and Spain had gone to his side to pat his head.

"Don't touch me," he said lowly. "I said don't touch me!"

Spain suddenly drew his hand back. "Romano, if it's about turning you into a girl..."

"It's not about that!" he shouted. "So don't touch me!"

"Romano..."

"Don't talk to me!" the Southern Italian screamed, before turning away sharply.

Belgium looked at Spain apologetically. "Come on, Romano," she said, taking out a handkerchief and wiping away his tears. "You can tell me anything."

"It's... it's always Veneziano..." Romano said after a while. "It's always Veneziano. Everybody loves Veneziano. Nobody loves me. Nobody actually loves me. Nobody chooses me if they can have Veneziano instead. That's why Spain chose him to play the part of the girl Antonio married in his story. It's because he's talented and I'm just the grouchy one that nobody loves."

"Oh, Romano," Belgium said, hugging him close. "We love you. Me and Spain and Netherlands and the rest of the former Empire."

"I don't think I love Romano very much," Philippines spoke up, rubbing his head where Romano punched him.

"Shut up, idiota," Mexico said, elbowing him hard in the ribs. "Nobody cares."

"It's okay, fratello!" Italy said, rushing over as well to join Belgium in hugging him. "I love you too you know, so you don't have to ever worry about nobody loving you. Seborga, San Marino and Holy See love you too."

Holy See looked up from whatever thick religious tome he was reading while Seborga continued to flirt with Vietnam and Taiwan and San Marino continued talking to Monaco.

"Right," Holy See said, sounding as if he didn't really mean what he said. "Seborga and San Marino say they loves you, too."

"See? Lots of people love you," Belgium said. "You don't have to cry."

"And I put you in my story," Italy said. "You'll love my story."

Romano nodded, wiping away the mucus that had dripped down his nose. "Grazie."

"Can it wait a little, Italy?" UN asked, having regained his composure. "I think we need to let Romano cool down a little so he can appreciate it."

"Of course!" Italy said.

"Thank you." UN said. "France, can you please tell us the next tale?" he asked, turning back to the rest of the room.

"With pleasure," France said with an elegant flip of his now tied up hair. He stood up and went up to the podium, careful not to disturb the former Spanish Empire plus Italy near the foot of it. "Well, I certainly didn't expect my turn to be after such an emotional display," he said, addressing the room. "I am sorry to say that my story might not be able to quell your desire for violence." He looked back at Mexico and grimaced. "But I can assure you that the romance will surely satisfy you." He flipped open his notebook to the first page. "I'm pretty sure many of you will be familiar with this tale."

* * *

**The Rose Beyond the Thorns**

There was once a man named Caesar who, although he was blessed with luck in trade, was cursed to always lose the woman he loved. He had been married three times and, each time, his wife died not long after giving birth to a child. It was fate for him to suffer such heartache, the townspeople believed, for he had been greatly blessed with wealth and all things favourable in life that, surely, he must give something in return as payment. It was his fortune to be lucky in all things save love, which he held most high and dear, and, for that, he would have been terribly sad, if not for the three wonderful daughters that he had gotten out of his three tragically short marriages.

From his first wife, Auruningica, he had gotten a lively and cheerful girl whom he had named Isabel. She took after her mother, with her bright green eyes and chocolate-coloured curls and her warm smile that was free and she never coveted to any soul. She was a most lovely creature of easy laughter, animated chatter and endless energy that endeared her to many who met her. Most notable of all was her passion, for dance and song and adventure above all else. She was passionate and warm and lively and probably among the loveliest things that the townspeople had ever seen.

Lovelier still was the second daughter, Angélique, who had been born to his second wife, Éponine. With her hair the colour of spun gold and her eyes as clear and blue as the summer sky, she was every bit as angelic as her ill-fated mother before her, but, whereas her mother had been wild and untameable, even as disease claimed her body, Angélique was elegant and demure, ethereal in grace and dainty of manner. To those who might look, she was the opposite of her mother in all ways but her delicate actions belied a hidden strength and spirit, so much like her mother's, that was plain for all who could look beyond the surface of things. She was talented in the arts and music, which she cultivated and held in high esteem, captivating her audience whenever she demonstrated her skills. It almost seemed that she was more a creature of the heavens than that of the earth and many would say that her name suited her well, for, truly, she was like an angel.

Finally, there was the youngest daughter, Maria, the child of Erminhilt, said to be born of scorn instead of love. It was the whispers of the town that the hatred her mother bore for her father had manifested itself upon her physically, having been born all white except for her eyes which were red when they should have been blue, a sign, they said, of the anger that had been passed from her dying mother to her. The anger that her mother had kept locked away, according to rumour, showed itself in her loud and uncontrollable daughter who always managed to get herself into trouble. Unlike her two older sisters, she cared little for the arts, preferring activities that did not require so much finesse and busied herself with more practical pursuits such as hunting and trapping. She was strange indeed, but she still managed to turn heads and people would exclaim how lovely she was, although her loveliness was of a different sort.

Wherever they went, the three sisters, who always went together for they were the best of friends, managed to catch the eyes of the people for their beauty and their talents. They were their father's greatest treasures and, eventually, the only treasures that would remain with him.

In time, Caesar's extraordinary luck finally ran out and great misfortune fell upon him. Their splendid house caught fire and speedily burnt to the ground, the fire consuming all their possessions and leaving them with nothing but the slightly burnt clothes that they wore. His ships, which had always been favoured by the winds of trade, were all lost, either through misfortune of shipwreck, pirates or fire. Then, he caught news that his clerks, whom he had always trusted entirely, had proved unfaithful when his business failed and absconded with what had been left over of his properties.

Nothing of his trade could be saved and he found himself wallowing in debt. Left in the direst poverty, he was forced to move his family to a small cottage in a village at the edge of a great forest where his daughters were forced to work as they had never done so before.

The girls never complained. They did all they could to help their father out. Isabel tended to a little vegetable garden, Angélique, with her talent for crafts, made little things that they could sell, and Maria went about doing much of the housework and mending as well as a bit of trapping. With the vegetables that Isabel grew and what little Angélique could earn and, sometimes, the things that Maria was able to snare, they were able to put food on the table everyday.

Caesar wished that his daughters didn't have to work so hard, but they could barely get by and, with his meagre earnings, he could not support the lifestyle they had become accustomed to in their girlhood.

After two years of hard living, he believed that his good fortune might be returning. One of his ships, believed to have been lost at sea long ago, had come safely to port with a rich cargo from the East. Overwhelmed with joy and relief at the good news, he agreed to meet with Herakles, the son of his recently-deceased retainer, and prepared to set off right away.

Before he left, he told his daughters, who were all delighted by the news, and asked them what they would want for him to bring home to them as gifts.

"A treasure from a faraway place, Papa!" Isabel immediately exclaimed, her sense of adventure bubbling up. "A treasure all made of gold! Like a gold chain or a gold medallion from some place beyond the sea."

"New boots!" Maria said, pulling up her skirt and sticking out one foot clad in an ill-fitting, worn-out boot. "I can't go hunting in these stupid things! And, warm clothes."

"Hey, that's unfair!" Isabel complained. "You asked for two things!"

"It is not!" Maria argued, crossing her arms. "Yours is more expensive than what I asked for!"

While the two argued, Caesar noticed that his second daughter had not asked for anything at all. She had always been the most content of the three. She had never asked anything of him ever since they had run into misfortune and she never complained of their living conditions.

"What do wish for me to bring back, Angélique?" he asked her.

"I only wish for you to return safely, Papa," was Angélique's only reply, that content smile on her pink lips.

"Surely, there is something that you must want," Caesar told his daughter. "You need only to ask for it and I shall bring it back for you."

"I wish only for a rose," she told him. "I do so love them and I have not seen one in a long time. If you could bring one home, I would be able to plant roses in our garden."

With his daughters' requests in mind, Caesar set off to see his ship, enthusiastic and happy that his luck had returned somewhat, but, when he arrived, the treasure he had expected to see was gone. The ship's crew, believing him to be dead, for they had not heard from him in a long time, had decided to partition the goods between themselves. Herakles had tried to convince them that he was indeed alive and on his way and they need only to wait for his arrival for it to be proven true, but, due perhaps to Herakles's youth or his propensity to nap, they did not believe him and sold the ship, divided the gains amongst themselves and carried off the cargo all while he was asleep. What little he did manage to keep was not worth very much and Caesar, out of pity for the young man, decided to let him keep most of it as payment for his services, taking only a large shard of broken pottery which showed off delicate painted flowers for Isabel and a shawl of poor make for Maria and absolutely nothing for Angélique.

Fortune seemed to desire to torment him more, because, on his way home, it suddenly began to snow very hard and, as night overtook him, he was left shivering in the forest, with no shelter other than the hollow trunk of a great tree. There he crouched in an attempt to keep the cold out, but the chill wind and the howling of wolves kept him awake and he found himself wandering the forest in the deep snow.

Eventually, he found an avenue of neatly-maintained trees that still flowered and bore fruit despite the weather and he was quick to notice that the path between them bore no trace of snow. The path led him to the agate steps of a splendid castle that stood all alone in the middle of the dark forest. Warily, he entered the castle and passed through several exquisitely-furnished rooms until he came upon a great room with a blazing fireplace and large, comfortable chair drawn closely to it and a small table set with a hot meal for one before it. There seemed to be no living soul in the entire house, but it seemed that it was all set to receive a guest. After some hesitation, he helped himself to the food and fell asleep on the chair.

When he awoke the next day, he found that the table was set once more and a warm breakfast had been served before him. The fire had also been tended to, fresh logs crackling away in the fireplace. As with the night before, his mysterious benefactor made no appearance and he was sure there was no living presence besides his own in the entire castle.

"This place must be enchanted," he concluded after he breakfasted. "I have been led here for a reason. All this must be meant for me and my daughters to enjoy."

He immediately prepared to set off so he may bring his daughters to his wondrous find so they may delight in the comforts he had experienced. As he made his way back down the agate steps, he noticed how the garden, filled with all manner of beautiful flowers and fruit-bearing trees, was in full bloom despite it being winter. Most beautiful of all the flowers were the neatly-trimmed arches of red roses that lined the little paths of stone that wound around in the garden.

Remembering that Angélique had asked for one, he moved to pick a large, beautiful rose, but, as soon as he had plucked it, a monster appeared before him, green eyes luminous and malicious beneath the heaviest eyebrows he had ever seen. He appeared human enough, but bestial, his stance primal, hunched over and almost on all fours, with too many teeth, all yellow and growing in the wrong angles, and an overabundance of hair growing about his face. Even his manner of movement, predatory yet wary like some sort of wild beast, seemed to indicate that he was not quite human.

"I let you into my home and this is how you repay my kindness?" the monster said in smooth, almost mockingly gentle voice that did not match his terrible appearance. "You steal from me? I gave you my food to eat and my home to use, but I had not bid you to take any of my roses. Insolence and ingratitude such as yours shall not go without penalty. Your punishment shall be death!"

Caesar tried to fight back, but some force of magic made it impossible for him to strike a blow upon the monster, so he was left to grovel upon his knees.

"I did not know! If I had, I would not have even thought of taking it. Spare me, for I have three daughters waiting for me at home!" Caesar begged for his life.

At the mention of Caesar's daughters, the monster seemed suddenly interested.

"I shall spare you," he said, but the malevolent grin on his face made it seem that he had more planned. "But you shall bring, in exchange for your life, one of your three daughters. I do not care which, so long as she comes to take your place of her own will. If you do not fulfil your end of the bargain within a month's time, I shall find where you live and destroy all which you hold dear. Understood?"

Caesar tried to reason with the monster, offering his own life instead, but the monster could no longer be swayed, for he was now only interested in possessing one of the three sisters for himself.

The monster merely regarded him with a false smile. "Now, you have until the bells stop tolling to make it past the snowless path that led you here. Run."

With the sound of bells behind him, Caesar ran as fast as he could, not wishing to find out what the monster would do if he did not make it past the avenue of trees before the bells stopped.

When he arrived home, more dead than alive, he did not know how to tell his daughters, who all flocked around him, eager to get the gifts they had asked for. Isabel and Maria looked at what their father had brought home to them, careful to hide their disappointment. They did not even see that their father was acting strange. It was Angélique who first noticed that their father was not his usual cheerful self.

"What is troubling you, Papa?" she asked with great concern.

"I am afraid, my daughters," Caesar explained to them. "I would have to lose one of you, for a monster accuses me of stealing a rose from his garden. I had begged him for my life, but perhaps I should not have, for he now desires to possess one of you, or else he shall destroy us all."

"All this trouble just for a rose," Isabel said, shaking her head. "All of this could have been avoided if Angélique had not asked for one in the first place."

"Let him come, Papa," Maria said as she drew her dagger from its sheath. "I'll kill him if he does."

Caesar could only shake his head sadly at his youngest daughter's boldness. "You cannot, for he has magic on his side," he said in despair. "We can only give him what he wants."

Isabel and Maria both quickly agreed that it should not be one of them for it was Angélique's fault that they were all in trouble in the first place.

"I shall go," Angélique said bravely. "For your sake, Papa, I shall go and I shall take your place."

Left with no other options, Caesar and Angélique set off for the monster's castle the next day with Isabel and Maria bidding them farewell. It was a difficult journey for they had no horse for their own use and they had to travel on foot through the unkempt forest paths, but Angélique did not complain. She kept on smiling without showing any fear of her fate to come and tried to cheer her father up as they travelled the forest. Caesar smiled for her, but, in his heart, he was very afraid for his daughter for he was sure that the monster had no good intentions for her.

After days of walking, they finally came upon the hollowed tree where Caesar had hid from the cold, but he could not remember the path he had taken to reach the snowless avenue. They walked and they walked until night fell and they could barely see a thing through the darkness.

"I am afraid that it is too dark to travel and we would have to stay the night here," Caesar told his daughter, but, no sooner had the words left his mouth, the forest was suddenly alight with tiny orbs of light all in different colours. The lights danced and flew through the air and seemed to beckon them down a path that was strangely familiar to Caesar. Following the little points of light, they eventually came upon the grand castle whose roof was illuminated with different colours and soft music filled the courtyard as they passed.

"Silly monster," Angélique thought to herself as they entered the castle. "Even if he presents me with all the riches in the world, he cannot buy my trust." Still, she could not help but admire the wonderful things she saw as she passed through the splendid rooms.

The two of them came upon the great room with the blazing fireplace where Caesar had spent that cold, snowy night and saw a table laid out for two and magnificently set with delicious food and wine. Caesar knew that the monster had intended the meal for them just as his meals had been laid out for him by unseen hands when he had been there before. They waited a while for the monster to arrive, but, when he did not, they decided to dine without him.

As soon as they had finished their supper, they heard the sound of feet padding down the dark hallway and, out from the shadows, the monster finally made his appearance.

"So you return," the monster said in his oddly gentle voice. "And your daughter is every bit as lovely as I imagined."

"And you are every bit as ugly and brutish as I imagined," Angélique answered bravely as she regarded his animalistic appearance and posture.

"Feisty one, aren't you?" the monster said to her with a grin that showed off his yellow teeth. "Your name?"

"It is hardly proper for a man to ask a lady to introduce herself without first introducing himself," Angélique said, hiding her disgust and terror for the monster.

"Fine, then," the monster said. "I am Arthur, the master of this castle."

Angélique almost laughed that such an animal-like creature would have such a human-like name.

"My name is Angélique," she answered gracefully as if introducing herself at one of the dances she used to attend before her family had met with misfortune. "I would say it is nice to meet you, but that would be a lie."

Arthur merely frowned. "Well, then, Angélique, take your father to the next room," he bid her. "And there you will find two large chests. Fill them with anything you think your father would wish to take. You have until the bell starts tolling to do so."

In the next room, Angélique was astonished with the riches laid out on the shelves that covered the walls of the room. Never in her entire life had she seen such wealth out on display and free to take. She found piles of gold coins and finely-cut gems of different kinds and all sorts of jewellery of the most beautiful craftsmanship and lovely dresses fit for queens and all sorts of other precious things.

"Papa, I think that the gold will be of the most use to you so we should probably fill the first chest with that and put whatever else you would like in the second one," Angélique said as she heaped gold coins into one chest.

"Do not bother with the other chest," Caesar said when she tried to fill the other chest with dresses and shoes and jewellery for her sisters. "I will only be able to carry one chest home. Surely, the monster is only mocking us when he knows fully well that I would have to choose only one."

"There is no harm in filling it anyway," Angélique said optimistically. "You might just be able to take both of them home. Then , you and Isabel and Maria could live comfortably again."

Her hopeful words proved true when, as the bells began to toll, the two chests suddenly sprouted metallic legs and began to walk of their own accord like living beasts.

"Time to go, thief," Arthur said as he made his reappearance. "These chests will continue to walk until you reach your house. Now, run. You have until the bells stop tolling to make it past the snowless avenue."

The bells got louder and Caesar ran out so fast followed by the two walking chests that Angélique did not get the chance to say goodbye.

"Now, to your room," Arthur said to Angélique. He led her past a corridor of many doors and showed her to the room that he indicated as hers. It was a large, warm room, furnished with beautiful furniture of the finest materials and provided with amusements such as a harpsichord and several books. Still, despite its luxuries, it was bare and did not feel like home at all.

Still upset that she did not get to say goodbye to her father, Angélique sat at the foot of the large canopy bed, not speaking even as Arthur ordered her to talk to him, and waited until he grew tired of trying to make her talk and went away. After he was gone, she lay back on her bed, thinking only of her father and sisters back home and how she wished that she could be with them instead of in this marvellous castle with a monster.

Soon, she fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of a lush garden with rose bushes in full bloom. She walked around until she reached a clear brook and, there, she found a golden-haired young man who seemed to be in a state of utter sadness and hopeless. He sat watching the water without moving or speaking, only staring angrily at his own reflection.

Before Angélique could go to him and ask him what he was so sad about, the scene changed and she found herself in a room she had never seen before. She was greeted by a tall, stately lady with red tresses that tumbled to her waist and eyes as green as the forest. Angélique, not knowing if she was in the presence of royalty or not, did her most elegant curtsy.

"Look at you," the stately lady said as she regarded Angélique warmly. "Dear Éponine would be proud to see you now. My dear friend would have loved to see you blossom into this fine young lady. "

"Where am I?" Angélique asked her.

"Now is not the time for answers," the stately lady told her. "In time, you will understand everything. For now, remember only this: Of all things in this world, love is among the most beautiful, for love transforms. Regret nothing which you have left behind you, for you are destined for better things."

With those words, Angélique awoke, once more in the room that had been designated for her. Breakfast had been served to her by unseen hands just as dinner had been and, after she had eaten, she decided to explore the castle which was now her home.

The first room she entered was a hall filled with mirrors and massive crystal chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. Everywhere she looked, she saw herself reflected from all different angles. It was a lovely room, but she was quick to tire of looking at herself and decided to have a look at the other rooms. As she made her way to the door, something hanging from the arm of a chandelier caught her eye. Once she had managed to get it down, she saw that it was a golden bracelet and, from it, hung a miniature of the young man she had seen in her dream. Delighted with how skilfully painted the tiny portrait was, she slipped the bracelet on her wrist.

In the next room, she found a gallery of paintings, all so life-like that she could almost see them moving and talking. Most of them were made by the same artist, she could tell, the style and brushstrokes all very similar to each other. There was, however, one portrait that seemed to have been made by a different painter. It was a larger-than-life portrait of the young man in her dream, a larger version of the miniature that hung around her wrist. She looked at his face, especially into his green eyes, and she figured that he was lonely.

The next room that she entered was filled with all manner of musical instruments and, although she could not see anybody else in the room with her, it was filled with a sweet, constant music. She stayed there for a while, trying out as many musical instruments as she could, until she tired and moved on to the next room. Just beyond that room was a great library filled with rare books from all corners of the map, beautifully-illuminated and bound. An entire lifetime would not have been enough to read all the books in the library.

As dusk fell, the candlesticks began to light themselves in their ruby and diamond candelabra and the sweet sounds of a musical ensemble began to drift through the air. Following the music, Angélique found the dining hall where a long table was laden with a delicious meal and set for two. She sat down but waited until Arthur arrived a while later before she began eating. They were mostly silent and only the sounds of the unseen musicians could be heard throughout the room.

"Answer me honestly, Angélique," Arthur eventually asked her, his face going red as if in embarrassment. "Will you marry me?"

Angélique merely looked at him, with his dirt-caked feet up on his chair and his fork and knife unused as he ate messily with his hands.

"I shall ask again. Will you marry me?" Arthur repeated.

"No," Angélique answered very curtly.

At that, Arthur was suddenly furious. "And why ever not?"

"Do you really expect anyone to marry you if you cannot even proposition a lady properly?" she scoffed at him. "Or even eat like a civilized person instead of a wild animal?"

"Fine, then," Arthur said with a scowl. "How, then, do you propose?"

Angélique could only laugh. "You do not start with that. You begin with learning how to eat."

She corrected him slowly and gently and she could say that it was like teaching a child. He had to be taught how to sit and how to hold a fork and knife and there was something about his utter cluelessness with the world of etiquette that she found strangely endearing in a child-like sort of way. By the time that supper was over and he had bid her a good night, she could no longer think of him as just the terrifying monster who held her captive, for now she also saw him as a child that needed to be taught and that, to her, made him seem just a little more human.

That night, she dreamed once more of the garden by the side of the brook and the pensive young man with the golden hair. This time, she was able to approach him and even sit beside him.

"What troubles you?" she asked.

"That is none of your business," he answered her sullenly. "But remember only this: Rely not too much on your eyes only. What you see before you is not all that which is to see."

Angélique remained quiet, but she noticed his reflection and saw that it was not his face mirrored in the water but Arthur's.

Before she could say anything about it, she had woken up in her bed once more with a meal laid out for her.

Once she had breakfasted, she decided that she should go for a walk in the gardens surrounding the castle. As she strolled in the early morning sun, she noticed how very familiar everything was and recognized it as the garden from her dream. The longer she stayed there, the more she thought about the young man in her dreams and pondered the meaning of his strange reflection.

When she tired of that, she went inside to explore once more. This time, she found a workroom filled with all sorts of fabrics and ribbons and lace and buttons with which she could make various articles of clothing. She was delighted, for she greatly missed working with her hands to pass her time.

Next, she found an aviary full of birds that were so tame that they flew down to eat breadcrumbs from her palm without fear. They sang to her in voices so sweet that she wished that her room was right next to this one, so she can wake up to their singing everyday. As if by magic, she found a door in the aviary and, when she opened it, she saw that it led to her own room, although she was quite sure that it had been in the opposite wing of the castle. She took one of the birds with her, a canary she had named Pierre, and put it on the ornate perch that had suddenly appeared in her room.

When the time for supper came, she dined once more with Arthur in the great dining hall. She was quick to notice how he sat like a civilized person and now ate with a knife and fork instead of with his hands.

"I will ask you again," Arthur said, his face red once more. "Will you marry me?"

"No," Angélique answered curtly.

Again, Arthur seemed quite incensed with her answer. "Why ever not? Have I not learned to sit and eat like a civilized person?"

Angélique could only laugh at him again. "But you do not know how to dress nor how to wash, it seems," she said, indicating his unwashed face, unkempt hair and his dirty hands and feet.

"Teach me, then," Arthur said in resignation.

"You are learning quickly, I see," Angélique said airily.

At length, she detailed how to wash and how to brush and what to wear to all manner of occasions until it was time for them to go to sleep.

Once more, she dreamed of the young man. The dream changed constantly, but all of them featured him in some way and, all night long, she watched unfamiliar scenes unfolding as if in a drama.

The next day, she once more found herself wandering the castle and she stumbled upon what was perhaps her most wondrous find of all. She found a large square room with many windows lining three of the walls and before each window was a large, comfortable chair. When she, at first, tried to look through the windows, she found that there was nothing but black beyond the glass although she was certain that it was still day. It was when she sat upon one of the chairs that the scenery outside changed and she was treated to a most amusing play through the glass. She tried out the other windows and, much to her delight, she found that each window showed her a different play to enjoy.

By suppertime, she was so amazed and happy with her find that she could not resist telling Arthur about it although she was certain that he already knew about the wondrous room.

Eventually, Arthur interrupted her with the question that she had expected him to ask. "Will you marry me?"

"No," she answered him curtly, once more.

Arthur became angrier than he had been the nights before. "Why ever not? I have learned to sit and eat like a civilized person and I had even bathed and dressed so you may not be disgusted. What more do you ask of me?"

Truly, he was cleaner now than he was before, without dirt on his hands, feet and face, and he had even taken the trouble to dress in something that did not seem to be fit for rags only.

Angélique laughed at him again. "Could you dance or stand like a man instead of a beast?"

"No, but I assume that you will teach me," he answered her.

After supper, the music changed to one more suitable for dancing and, patiently, she corrected his posture and taught him the basic steps of dancing. He was easily frustrated when he could not do a step or when he lost count and she found it endlessly amusing. For a long time, they spun and twirled to the sound of music until it was too late and they had to retire to their respective rooms.

As with the nights before, she dreamed again of the young man and the strange scenes unfolding before her that, little by little, began to make more and more sense.

It had become a sort of pattern. Each morning of every day she would spend wandering the castle and discovering what seemed to be an endless amount of wonders and curiosities that never failed to amaze her. Suppertime, and sometimes the hours after that, was reserved for Arthur and her lessons on civilized living and genteel behaviour. It was a tedious task to teach this monster who seemed to be so unaware of any social graces, but she found herself enjoying his company as she progressively discovered his habits and the workings of his mind and heart, especially his amusing and, dare she admit, slightly endearing tendency to get flustered at the smallest of things. Then, her nights were spent dreaming of the young man she had yet to fully know.

After about a year of living in Arthur's castle, Angélique began to long to see her father and her sisters. It had been so long that they probably thought she was dead, devoured by the monster that had wanted to kill their father. That thought only made her want to see them more, if only to show them that she was alive and well.

"I have noticed that you are always sad these days. What is it that ails you?" Arthur asked her one night after he noticed, not for the first time, that she was not her usual contented self.

"Nothing ails me," she answered. "I only wish to be able to go and visit my father and sisters."

Arthur was suddenly very agitated. "You wish to leave me?" he asked angrily. "Fine, then. Leave if you wish. I do not need you. It is not as if I would die if you leave."

"It is only for a while," Angélique said, her spirits slightly lifted because of his amusing outburst. "A month to see them is all I ask for."

"A month, then," Arthur said, calming somewhat. "But a month is all I shall give you. Remember that you are still mine and you must return to me when that time expires. Understood?"

"I understand and I shall return at the end of a month's time," Angélique promised.

"Good. Then I shall arrange for you to be at your father's house by tomorrow morning," Arthur said. Then, he got up from the table and led her to her room and presented her with four boxes. "Fill this with whatever you wish to take to your father and sisters," he bid her. "Then, place them at the foot of your bed when you are through."

Angélique immediately went around the castle gathering delightful things and enchanted trinkets to bring to her family on her visit and placed the boxes at the foot of her bed.

"Take this ring," Arthur said as he slipped a golden band around one of her fingers. "When you wish to return to me, only take it off your finger and place it upon a table, then go to sleep. You will find yourself here once more. Now, sleep."

Almost as soon as he had uttered those words, she fell asleep and, when she awoke, she was no longer in her luxurious bedroom but in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar house with the boxes she had packed at the foot of the bed. Curious, she wandered towards the dining room of the house and found her family seated around the table with a bespectacled man that she had never met before.

"Mon Dieu!" Caesar exclaimed as he got up from the table. "Do my eyes deceive me? Is it truly you, Angélique?"

"Yes, Papa," was the only answer Angélique managed, for so overwhelmed with happiness was she.

In a moment, her family had flocked around her and she was covered in hugs and kisses, for they had missed her just as much as she had missed them. Without asking, she was treated to news of what had happened while she had been gone. With the gold that he had brought back from Arthur's castle, Caesar had managed to begin his business anew and his luck had finally seemed to return. They were able to afford a house in the town once again and all the comforts that they had lost when their old house had burned down. There was also more good news that they were very excited to tell her and they said that she had come just in time to receive it. The bespectacled man, a musician named Roderich, it turns out, was to marry Isabel in a fortnight and she had come at the right time to be able to attend the wedding.

Maria later told her in secret that, she also loved and been courted by Roderich in the past few months, but, in the end, he had chosen Isabel over her.

"It is obvious why he chose her," Maria said, oddly quieter than usual. "I just cannot stand him!"

"If you cannot stand him, then why should you care that he is marrying Isabel and not you?" Angélique asked.

"I cannot stand him," Maria said again. "He tries to make me into a lady when I would rather not be, yet I cannot help but like him and try to catch his attention. I don't know."

Angélique could not believe how much her youngest sister had seemed to change while she was gone, but she remembered what the stately lady from her dream had said: Love transforms.

Deciding to play the matchmaker, Angélique arranged for Maria to meet with an old childhood friend of theirs, a young man named László, whom they had not seen in a long while. After some bitter words between the two, Maria and László began talking and fooling around like little children once more. Just as she had planned, Maria seemed to forget all about Roderich as she spent afternoons recollecting childhood memories with László or hunting with him in the forest.

Not long after Isabel and Roderich's wedding, Maria and László announced their own wedding and Angélique found herself staying beyond a month to see her youngest sister married.

It was after the marriage that she dreamed once more of the garden with the rose bushes, but, instead of seeing the young man with the golden hair, she saw Arthur lying in the grass, unmoving and seemingly dead. Before she could even go to him, the dream changed and she was again in the unfamiliar room with the stately lady. The lady looked at her with a weary face.

"You have broken your promise," she said in a grave voice. "It is you who has doomed him and it is only you who could save him. Save him before it is too late."

Angélique awoke with a start in the middle of the night. Without delay, she removed the ring from her finger and placed it on the table beside her bed and hurriedly went back to sleep.

The next morning, she awoke to the sound of Pierre's singing and she rushed immediately to the garden, where she saw Arthur lying face down in the grass like she had seen him in her dream. She immediately went to his side and tried to wake him to no success, but he seemed to still be slightly breathing, so she took some water from the brook and threw it upon his face. To her relief, he stirred and looked up at her.

"I am here now," she told him. "I am sorry for breaking my promise."

"I take back what I said about me not dying if you left," Arthur said to her. "It turns out, I will die without you."

Angélique could only laugh at him despite it all. "So you finally accept it."

"Will you marry me now?" Arthur asked her even though it seemed to be the oddest request when he was dying.

"Yes," Angélique said. "You are annoying and brutish, but I cannot help but like you, because, beyond that, I see another side of you which is a lot less annoying."

Then, at the moment, his teeth seemed to be a little less crooked, his sideburns a little less wild and his eyebrows just a little less thick. She could even say that he almost looked human.

Suddenly, two red-headed women, one of whom was the stately lady who she had already met in her dreams, appeared in the garden and Angélique did not know which to address first for both were so regal in bearing that she could not figure out who was of higher rank between the two.

"So my wretched brother's curse has finally been broken," the one she had not met yet said.

"Yes, and it is all thanks to this girl who we see before us," the stately lady said.

Angélique stood and curtsied to the two. "You once said that it was not the time for answers," she said to the stately lady. "Would now perhaps be the time?"

The stately lady, who now introduced herself as Queen Boudicca, explained that her son, Arthur, had been cursed to be a monster when, out of his own greed and selfishness, he had attacked his own sister, Aoife, the other red-haired woman, for his own gains. The only way for him to return to his normal self was for a girl to agree to see past his ugliness and rude manners and into his gentler side and agree to marry him, which Angélique had just done. All this time, the young man she had been seeing in her dreams had been Arthur and the scenes she had witnessed were his life unfolding up to the point where he had been cursed.

"You should look at him now," Aoife said to Angélique when Boudicca had finished explaining. "Not much has changed, if you ask me."

True enough, although Arthur did look a little bit more human, his eyebrows were still inhumanly thick, but such details were insignificant when she had looked past such unimportant things to see him for who he was inside.

Not too long afterwards, Angélique brought her father, her sisters and their husbands to the castle so that they may witness her marriage to Arthur. It was a joyous affair that lasted for several days of celebrating and thanksgiving for their good fortune. There, in the castle, they all stayed and lived in comfort and happiness for the rest of their lives.

* * *

"And, now that the tale is ended, I ask the listeners to remember only this: Of all things in this world, love is among the most beautiful, for love transforms," France concluded.

There was a moment of silence as everybody stared at France, then looked towards England.

"What?" England asked them all as they stared at him. "What are you all looking at me for? If you're expecting a violent reaction, I am not giving you one. Not after that." He looked over to where the former members of the Spanish Empire and Italy were still gathered. "You will have to get that from somebody else."

That statement seemed to please UN a lot.

"He turned himself into a girl to pair himself up with you," Greece pointed out. "For some reason, it doesn't really surprise me, but don't you find it a little weird?"

"He's France," England said attempting to be calm although his face was going very red. "Do you expect any less?"

There were several nods and murmurs of assent.

"If I may speak," Japan said. "I think that the story is quite good and I believe that I have not heard of this version before. It's a lot different from the Disney movie that America-san and I watched."

"It is a lot different," Italy agreed.

"But I do have to ask, frog," England cut in before Italy could go on about how the two versions were different. "What point were you trying to make with your tale?"

"It's simple really," France answered. "First: To introduce you to one of the oldest and most beautiful versions of La Belle et la Bête. It saddens me to think that children these days are growing up with only the Disney version without knowing Madame de Villaneuve's wonderful telling. Second: To remind you who taught you that gentlemanliness that you are so proud off."

"What?" England said. "It did not come from you."

"The Norman Conquest, mon cher, the Norman Conquest," France reminded him in a singsong voice.

"Okay, enough of this," UN intervened. "We don't want a repeat of the incident earlier. Any questions?"

"I do," Prussia said. "Who is László supposed to be?"

"Hungary," France answered simply.

Then, almost simultaneously, Prussia and Hungary shouted, "You paired the two of us together?"

* * *

**More Author's Notes: This chapter's story is based on the ever-popular and beloved "Beauty and the Beast", specifically the version by Madame Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villaneuve, which includes whimsical and fanciful details often absent in most other tellings.**

**Characters in the Fairy Tale: Angélique - France; Isabel - Spain; Maria - Prussia; Caesar - Rome; Auruningica - Iberia; Éponine - Gaul; Erminhilt - Germania; Arthur - England; Boudicca - Britannia; Aoife - Ireland; Herakles - Greece; Roderich - Austria; László - Hungary**

**French Words: papa - father; mon Dieu! - my God!; mon cher - my dear; La Belle et la Bête - Beauty and the Beast**

**Spanish Words: idiota - idiot; mis hijos - my children; brujos - warlocks (pejorative)**

**Portuguese Words: seu tolinho! - it's silly!; meu irmãozinho tolo - my foolish little brother**

**Italian Words: fratello - brother; grazie - thank you**

**Filipino Words: aruy! - ouch!**

**Each of the "mothers" in France's tale have been given names that derived from their own culture and not their "children's". The sole exception would have to be ****Éponine which is written the modern French way as opposed to the Gaulish Epponina. I decided to spell it that way to make it seem less Spanish or Italian.**

******On La Llorona: She is the ghost of a woman who drowned her children in a river so she can be with a man she loves. She is denied a restful afterlife until she finds her missing children, which is why she calls for them and takes children so she may use them as a substitute. She is used by Mexican parents to scare their children into behaving.**

******On Asuwang: These are a race of shape-shifting, magic-using flesh-eaters with a love for internal organs and foeti in Filipino folklore who are commonly used to scare children into behaving. Stingray and manta ray tails are said to be effective weapons against them.**

******France's tale was primarily chosen to showcase the lesser-known version of Beauty and the Beast since most people I meet only know the Disney version or some other version that omits the rich details of de Villaneuve's. I agree with France that it is saddening to see children growing up with only the Disney or some other distilled or cleaned up version of fairy tales. I have nothing against those versions and I love Disney films, but children should, at least, get to read the other versions of well-loved tales as well as the other, more obscure fairy tales out there as they grow older. They are missing out on a wealth of culture if they do not.**

******There are bits and pieces of history here and there in the chapter. The one that is pointed out by France is how the English were pretty much "barbarians" in the eyes of the Romanized world and it was only during the Norman Conquest that they began to develop the tradition of etiquette and chivalry as we know it today. Along with the feudal system, the Normans introduced their social codes to the English which includes the ever-popular Code of Chivalry that the knights followed, so, basically, England learned it all from France. The scenes in the story which would have been the Beast asking Beauty if he was ugly were substituted with scenes of France teaching England how to be a gentleman, in keeping with this theme. Also, I have changed the number of the merchant's children from twelve, consisting of six sons and six daughters, to just three. France and Spain are quite obviously influenced by Rome, making them quite easy to portray as his children. Prussia is a little different, but, seeing as how he would have started out as an order of hospitallers established under Christianity, a Roman religion, he is still influenced by Rome, although it would be quite a bit of a stretch. As for Britannia's seeming familiarity with Gaul: Historically, the Celts have offered their aid to the Gauls during the Gallic Wars, so they would have known each other long before Gaul came to be with Rome.**


	5. Maiden Hands

**Author's Note: This might not be a spooky story, but the reaction it would get from the other nations would be a little interesting. I can assure you that a scary story would come along at some point, just not this chapter. Also, since I have rendered the accent marks and umlauts in several words and names in different languages, it would only be fair for me to render words not written in the Roman alphabet to be similarly written in their own writing system. The exception would be with names and titles so they do not disrupt the flow of the story. Do not worry. A romanized variant of the word will be placed beside it within a square bracket to make it easier to refer to at the end of the chapter.**

**Chapter-Specific Warnings: violence, abuse, incest, mutilation, cruel and unusual punishment**

* * *

Hungary smiled in a way that would have been described as sweet if not for the dark, terrible look in her eyes as she stared at France. Everybody old enough knew what that look meant. It was the same look she had when she had beaten Prussia for taking Silesia, except, this time, it didn't match with the rest of her otherwise sweet expression.

"Oh, France," she said in an eerily cheerful tone of voice as she clutched her frying pan close to her chest. "Why would you do that? You should be more careful when you try to play matchmaker."

"Besides," Prussia put in while looking away from Hungary, the redness at the tips of his ears quite obvious for everybody to see. "Why would I fall in love with a weird, macho girl?"

Hungary quickly turned towards him and whacked him over the head with her frying pan while still smiling sweetly.

"You know, you used to be a lot cooler when you were a boy?" Prussia said as he held his head and Hungary raised her frying pan to hit him again. "I liked you a lot more back then."

Hungary suddenly stopped mid-strike, a light blush colouring her cheeks.

France chuckled in his distinctive manner. "So you do admit it," he said. "You did, at one point, harbour feelings for Hungary. You are welcome," he said as if Prussia and Hungary's disbelieving looks were a show of thanks.

"You know that's not what I meant!" Prussia said defensively.

"This will be so much easier for the both of you if you stop denying it to yourselves," France said. "Don't tell me you don't feel a current jump between the two of you when you look into each other's eyes."

Prussia and Hungary shared a look which they held for a few moments and then nodded to each other before turning towards France.

"I agree with Hungary, France," Prussia said. "You should really be more careful when you play matchmaker."

Hungary only smiled creepily as she advanced towards France, her frying pan raised.

At this point, UN thought it would be wise to intervene and, quite unwisely, he stepped between Hungary and France.

"Wait! Let's listen to Italy's story first!" he suggested, flinching as he realized how stupid his decision to stand between the two had been.

Luckily for him, Hungary caught herself just in time and lowered her frying pan and, to his surprise, she started pinching his cheeks.

"Okay!" she said sweetly. "But only because you're so cute."

"Ja, you were a lot cooler back then when you weren't so girly," Prussia muttered dejectedly as Hungary ignored him.

France patted Prussia's back in consolation as he went back to his sleeping bag. "She'll come around someday," he said comfortingly.

"Okay, you're turn, Italy," UN said with some difficulty as he rubbed his reddened cheeks.

Italy stood up and excitedly went over to the podium with his notebook.

The entire room suddenly seemed to relax. If Italy was telling the story, then they could expect a nice little fairy tale and that would be a good thing after all the drama they had had to see just a while ago.

"Okay, I'm going to start now, everybody!" he announced in his usual cheerful, child-like manner. He looked over to his brother and smiled even wider and, to a lot of nations' secret amusement, Romano smiled back just a little. "I want to dedicate this story to my big brother, Romano, who I love very much."

* * *

**For the Maiden's Hand**

When King Lovino of Pietrasecca's beloved wife, the beautiful Carmen, died and left him a widower with no heirs, he was grief-stricken and inconsolable. For days and days, he mourned her death and seemed to be without reprieve. Locking himself away in his chambers with neither food nor company, he refused to face anyone at all, save for his younger sister, Princess Feliciana, whom he had always held dearest to his heart.

Afraid that he might die and leave the throne without a successor, his advisors begged him from beyond his door day and night for him to find another wife to bear him heirs, but Lovino refused to marry again. He raged and ordered them away to leave him in peace. Still, his advisors continued to plead for him to marry another woman, even if it was his own sister.

It was only when they suggested he marry Feliciana that Lovino finally relented. Feliciana was the only family he had left in the world, the last of their ill-fated family, their dear Nonno Romulus, having died shortly before he had married, and, after the death of his wife, was probably the only person he still loved. Perhaps by some affliction of the mind caused by hunger, he somehow confused the love he felt for his sister with the love he felt for his wife. With each passing day, the idea of marrying his sister grew to be more and more appealing to him until he no longer thought that it was wrong to take as wife his own flesh and blood, only thinking of how much he wished to possess her.

One day, when Feliciana had come to bring him food and try to coax him to eat, he bid her to sit down beside him and she cheerfully complied, just happy that her brother did not seem as deep in mourning as he had been in the past days.

"Sorellina, those advisors of mine finally got to me with their unending whining and I have chosen to remarry," he said in a grave tone.

Feliciana was overjoyed with the news. "So who's the lucky maiden who will become your bride?" she asked excitedly.

"You," Lovino answered as if there was nothing wrong with what he had just said.

Turning very red with embarrassment then white with fear, Feliciana tried to slide away from her brother, but he held her in place with an arm around her waist.

"No, fratellone, no," she said, shaking her head. "This isn't right. You are my brother. I am your sister. We are of one blood. You cannot truly mean this."

Still, Lovino could not be swayed from his decision. "I do mean it and you will marry me," he said, anger beginning to show in his voice. "You are all I have left in this world. I've thought this over for many days and nights and, as far as I could tell, this is for the best. You shall be my queen and you shall never ever leave me."

"You are sick, fratellone," Feliciana said worriedly as she touched her brother's forehead to see if he had a fever. "You haven't eaten or been outside for so long. You are sick."

Lovino took hold of her wrists and pulled her hands away from his face. "I'm not sick!" he growled. "I mean everything I say! Do you understand that?"

Feliciana held back the tears that were forming in her eyes and nodded lifelessly.

"If you don't mind my asking," she said, keeping her head bowed. "Why do you want to marry me when there are plenty of other girls who would be happy to become your wife?"

Lovino smiled, pleased that his sister had resigned to his wishes. "Because you are my sister and I love you," he said simply. "And you are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on."

With fear for her brother's sanity and soul, Feliciana ventured to inquire further. "What is it about me that has so enamoured you?" she asked him. "For I cannot begin to imagine what you had found so lovely in so plain a girl as I."

"Everything about you is beautiful, sorellina," Lovino said, suddenly very gentle, and placed a kiss on the knuckles of her hand. "But what enchants me the most are your lovely hands."

"I understand," Feliciana said softly.

Then, she stood and took her leave before she could begin crying before him. She was afraid, both for herself and her brother whose senses had gone from him. If they were both to be saved from this sin he wished to commit, she would have to make a painful sacrifice.

She called for her most reliable servant, Kiku, whom she could always trust to keep her secrets.

"There is something I need you to do," she told him and put a large knife in his hands. "I need you to cut off my hands."

Kiku did not speak, although he thought that Feliciana's request was utter madness, and only stared contemplatively at the blade he had been given.

"Please!" Feliciana begged him, on the verge of tears, when he took no action. "I need you to cut off my hands! My brother has gone mad. He has forgotten that I am his sister and wishes to make me his wife. He has become sick. He thinks that he is in love with me, especially my hands. I need you to cut off my hands. I need to do this sacrifice so that he might not commit this act of shame."

Overwhelmed with her plaintive sobbing, Kiku could do no less than comply although he did not wish to do it. "I understand," he said to calm her down.

"Grazie!" Feliciana could not thank him enough.

Then, laying her arms upon the table, Kiku cut off both her hands with one stroke each, expert as he was with blades. Feliciana barely felt anything as her hands were severed from her wrists and blood flowed freely upon the table while her fingers continued to twitch with the last of the life left in them. It was only when the deed was done did she feel dizzy and faint. Still, once the stumps of her hands had been cleaned and bound in bandages, she had Kiku wash her lifeless hands, put them in a bowl and cover them with an embroidered white handkerchief and brought them to her brother.

"Here is what you most desire, fratellone," she said, the stumps of her hands hidden in the folds of her skirt, as Kiku placed the bowl before Lovino.

Her brother looked at her questioningly. "What is this?"

"Lift the cover and see for yourself," Feliciana answered him.

Lovino did as his sister had told him and, seeing the stiff severed hands nestled in the bowl, flew into a rage.

"What is this supposed to mean?" he growled, shattering the bowl at her feet. "Explain to me why you mock me with these hands!"

Although she was afraid that he might hurt her, Feliciana withdrew her arms from her skirt and showed her brother what she had done. A look of mixed horror and anger settled over Lovino's features as he stared at the bandaged stumps.

"I have cut off my hands, fratellone," Feliciana said quietly, steeling herself for the blow that was sure to come.

Just as she had feared, he slapped her across the face, hard enough to send her sprawling across the floor.

"I cut them off," she repeated as Kiku helped her to her feet. "So that you may not commit this shameful act. Take them, fratellone, but do not cause the both of us to do wrong because of them."

Once more, Lovino slapped her, then turned away. "Be gone from my presence."

He didn't talk to her or even look upon her for days and she was left to suffer the fever that came after cutting off her hands, without the ministrations of the palace physicians that would have normally been at her disposal had she not incurred her brother's wrath, only Kiku's care and silent comfort. When he finally came to her as she lay delirious in her bed, he had come to exact her punishment for her insolence and dragged her out by her hair despite her screams while Kiku stood by, not daring to interfere.

He had had a great wooden chest prepared, just big enough for her to fit inside without much room to move. Darkness closed around her as the heavy lid was shut and sealed with tar and nobody could hear her begging to be let out for the wood was very thick. The next she knew, she was being tossed by the waves, her brother's men having apparently thrown her out into the sea.

For many days, Feliciana cried alone in the small, dark space as the sea rocked the heavy chest back and forth. She was hated and cast out by her only remaining kin for the sacrifice that she had done for his sake, but it was worth all the pain if she had saved him from his own madness. Still, she could not help but cry at her own pitiable condition, wishing that she would just die instead of endlessly drifting across the sea.

It wasn't until a long while that the chest washed upon the shores of a lush island where a musician and his wife lived alone in their grand house. The musician, a man named Roderich, had been playing his piano on the beach as the water lapped at his ankles when the heavy wooden chest was carried ashore by a large wave. Curious as to what treasures it held within but unable to open it himself, he called to his wife, Erzsébet, and had her break open the lid.

Both of them were very surprised when a scrawny girl, who would have been pretty if not for the fact that she had no hands, emerged from the chest, but for different reasons: Erzsébet wondered how a girl had ended up drifting in a chest over the sea and Roderich was disappointed that it had not been something useful that had washed up ashore.

"Throw her back into the sea," he said to his wife as he looked down on Feliciana.

At those words, Feliciana immediately began to cry, begging them to let her stay or, if they could not really find it in their hearts to keep her, to let her continue on to someplace else so long as they do not toss her back into the sea.

"Do not be so cruel to the poor girl, Roderich," Erzsébet told her husband. "You could put her to work in the house."

Roderich merely scoffed at the suggestion. "Can you not see she has no hands?" he said. "She is not fit for housework and would only be another mouth for us to feed."

"Surely, you might be able to find some task that she would be capable of doing," Erzsébet insisted.

After a lot of convincing, Roderich finally relented and allowed Feliciana to stay as a maid in their household. Grateful that she had not been cast out once again, Feliciana did all she could to serve them as best she can, but Roderich was never pleased with her work and reminded her of it whenever he could. She could barely hold a broom to sweep, she could not light a fire and cook, she could not handle a needle to sew and mend clothes, she could not balance a tray without anything slipping off and she barely went a day without dropping something on the floor, all because she had no hands. There was only so much she could do with her feet and the stumps of her hands and, even when she could do the job, Roderich always found fault in her work and punished her for it. He would lock her up in a dark room with neither food nor water until either he remembered to release her or Erzsébet noticed she was missing and asked where she was.

Eventually, Roderich seemed to have grown tired of her and decided to be rid of her. He waited until his wife had gone out to town to do some shopping before he dragged her out of the room he kept her in and forced her into the same chest she had arrived in. She begged and cried, but he would have none of it.

"I have had enough of you for you have caused me nothing but trouble, storpia," he told her as he shut the lid, unmindful of her pleas.

Then, having sealed the broken lid with tar, he set her adrift in the sea once more. Again, Feliciana was left to cry alone in the dark as the chest was battered and buffeted by the waves.

It had seemed like forever before she saw the light again when the crew of a ship pulled the chest out of the water and opened it to see what was inside. They were surprised when they found her curled up inside and they were even more surprised when they realized that she had no hands. Soon enough, many of the crew had crowded around her, prodding her to tell them her tale so they may know how a handless maid had ended up in a chest in the ocean. She didn't want to answer, afraid that they might throw her back if they knew who she was and how she had come to be that way, but they refused to be turned away.

It was only when a tall, blond man with piercing blue eyes and an air of authority came up to the deck and ordered them to disperse did they stop asking her questions.

"Back to your duties!" he commanded them in a terrifying voice and they all hurriedly obeyed. Then, he turned to Feliciana and his face suddenly softened. "I am King Ludwig of Terraverde," the man introduced himself. "I apologize on their behalf. They are not very well-disciplined."

Feliciana did a quick curtsey. "You do not need to apologize to me, Your Highness," she said hastily.

"But, I apologize that I would have to ask you the same question," the man said. "I need to know how you ended up in that chest."

Feliciana looked down at the stumps of her hands and tried not to show the fear that she felt. "Mi dispiace," she said. "I can't tell you, but please don't throw me back into the sea. I don't want to go back there. Send me off once we get to land if you wish. Just please don't throw me back into the sea. "

At that, Ludwig was confused, wondering what must have happened for her to beg him not to throw her back. He would have done nothing of the sort, even if she had not answered his question. He pitied her and he would not be able to bring himself to throw her overboard when it was so plain to see that she was afraid to go back into the water.

"I won't throw you back," he reassured her when he decided that he would not press her to answer. "But, at least, tell me your name."

"I am Feliciana," she answered, purposely leaving out the fact that she was a princess of Pietrasecca.

"Well, Feliciana, you can stay here," he told her. "I will have a room prepared for you."

Feliciana was overjoyed and could not thank him enough for such a small act of kindness. To show her gratitude, she followed him around the ship and did small acts for him, such as making his bed or fetching his shoes, when she could, hoping to repay him for letting her stay.

Perhaps due to the pity he felt for her or in hopes that she would one day tell him her tale, Ludwig decided that he would bring her home to his palace in Terraverde and keep her as a personal maid for his wife. He could not admit it to anyone, but he had secretly grown fond of her cheery and animated nature and his wife, Clara, found her similarly endearing from the moment that Feliciana was presented to her.

For a while after, Feliciana was very happy and content with her life. Clara was a kind mistress, always patient and guiding and never giving her impossible tasks to do and she no longer needed to live in constant fear of punishment and dark places. In the months that she worked for her, Clara never raised a hand to her in violence, preferring to gently admonish than to use physical punishment. In turn, Feliciana served her dutifully, rendering all sorts of tasks for her, including starching her collars, dressing her hair and even threading her needles, all with her feet, which she had become increasingly proficient with.

When nearly a year had passed since Feliciana had been brought to Terraverde, Clara contracted the illness that had swept through Terraverde and could do nothing but lay in bed all day. She became weak and her fingers and toes began to die and blacken and it became evident to all that she would not get better and Feliciana, who had grown to love her like a mother, would stay and cry at her bedside without reprieve as she continued to care for her when the doctors had all been sent away and all that was left to do was wait for death to take her.

Clara had no choice but to send the sobbing girl away so that she may have a few words of parting with her husband.

"I know that our marriage had not been in the best of circumstances," she said once they were alone. "But, if, in the years that we have been married, you have grown to love me, take heart, my husband, and deem to grant me a final request."

Ludwig, kneeling by her bedside, nodded his head. "Command me," he answered.

"Then, when I am dead, marry Feliciana," Clara said weakly. "She is a good girl. She will make a good wife and she adores you so."

"I promise to marry her," Ludwig said. "I will grant your final wish."

Reassured that his promise will be fulfilled, Clara promptly and quietly passed away with a smile upon her lips.

It was some time after her death that Ludwig approached Feliciana to fulfil his promise to his wife. Clara was right. Feliciana was a good girl. She would make a good wife.

"Feliciana, I have decided that enough time has passed and it would be proper for me to marry again," he said to the still-grieving girl.

Feliciana could only smile at him softly in her mourning. "So who's the lucky maiden who will become your bride?" she asked.

"You," Ludwig answered.

For a moment, Feliciana was silent for she could remember when something similar had transpired a long time ago.

"Do you truly love me?" she asked him, hopeful that he truly did for she had loved him secretly for some time.

"Yes," Ludwig reassured her. "It does not matter that you have no hands. I love you and I had promised Clara that I would marry you when she had passed."

Overjoyed to hear that Ludwig truly did love her and her sad memories forgotten for the moment, she flung her arms around him. "Then I shall become your wife and we shall be happy," she joyously declared.

The wedding was a grand affair attended by all the wealthy and distinguished inhabitants of Terraverde who showered them with congratulations and well-wishes. The palace was filled with the sounds of merriment and the aromas of feasting for several days and nights. Even in the streets in the districts that had been ravaged by the plague, there was celebrating for their new queen, the handless girl who had so loved their dear Queen Clara and cared for her in her last moments of life.

Not long after, the king and queen of Terraverde were blessed with good fortune and Feliciana became with child. In anticipation for the birth of an heir, Ludwig tried to attend to his wife as often as he can, but, there was business in Altoscoglio that needed overseeing and he had to leave her in the palace although he wished to stay by her side.

When the time finally came and the child was born, all of Terraverde was illuminated to mark the birth of the lovely little prince that Feliciana had brought into the world and named Sebastiano. Immediately, Feliciana wrote a letter announcing the joyous news to be delivered to her husband in Altoscoglio.

The messenger, Lars, a brother of the previous queen, speedily set sail for Altoscoglio, but, due to ill weather, had to take refuge on the island where Roderich and Erzsébet lived.

Upon seeing the rain-drenched messenger and his ship's crew, Erzsébet welcomed them into their large house, bid them to warm themselves by the fire and prepared a hearty meal to warm their stomachs.

"What business brings you here?" Roderich asked Lars as they sat around the table.

"I am to deliver a message to the king of Terraverde," Lars answered. "The queen has given birth to a prince and wishes for her husband to know."

"Ah, Queen Clara has finally birthed an heir," Roderich said. "I have known Clara in her youth and she must remember me also. Send her my congratulations."

Lars regarded him warily, remembering a youth of a remarkably similar face who had taken his sister from him years and years ago. "My sister is dead," he said simply. "I speak of the new queen, a handless girl named Feliciana that the king had drawn up from the sea in a chest some time ago."

"A handless girl?" Erzsébet inquired. "Roderich, doesn't she sound just like our Feliciana?"

Roderich did not answer for he knew that it really was the same Feliciana that he had cast back into the sea in a chest. Still sore and bitter about her stay in his household, he hated her good fortune and wished for her to suffer terribly, so he began to plot her demise.

"Bring our guest some wine to enjoy," he bid his wife.

Although Lars was wary of Roderich, he did not object to the copious amounts of wine that his host insisted be served to him and promptly got very drunk and fell asleep at the table.

While he slept, Roderich searched through his pockets, found the letter, carefully removed the seal so it remained undamaged and composed a new letter that instead said that the queen had given birth to a monstrous dog instead of a healthy boy. Then, painstakingly replacing the seal, he returned the letter to Lars's pocket and the messenger left the next day without even knowing what had been done.

When Ludwig finally received the letter, he was confused and did not speak a word of it to anybody, thinking it would be better to keep it a secret so it would not cause shame to his wife's name. He replied in a letter addressed to his older brother, Prince Gilbert, to comfort Feliciana as best he can and to keep the monstrous dog alive until he returned, if it could be kept alive at all.

On his way home, he stopped once more at Roderich and Erzsébet's house, hoping to be invited inside again for supper, and, just as he had wished, the couple let him inside and gave him and his crew much food and wine. Once more, he became very drunk and fell asleep at the table.

Then, Roderich opened the letter like he had before and, frustrated that the king had reacted so calmly, changed it so it said that Feliciana and her child must be burned at once.

Lars returned to Terraverde with the letter, not knowing that it had been tampered with, and was just as surprised and horrified as everyone else when Gilbert read the letter aloud.

"My fratellino has gone crazy!" Gilbert exclaimed. "I knew this would happen someday! But do not worry, Feliciana, for I have a plan."

Giving her a bag of gold coins, Gilbert sent Feliciana off with her child, instructing her to go very far away where Ludwig would not be able to find her. He would endeavour to reason with his brother and, if he could successfully convince him to abandon the idea, he would come looking for Feliciana.

Unhappy and feeling betrayed by her husband, Feliciana tearfully went away and walked and walked for days with her infant son until she reached Lagotorbido, where she sought audience with the lord of the land, a sorcerer named Arthur. Before him, she told her sad tale and pleaded to be granted shelter and protection from her husband's men should they come to burn her and her child. Arthur took pity on her and took her in, unable to turn away the mutilated girl who had suffered so much at the hands of those she loved.

"Take courage," he told her. "In me, you have a friend and I shall help you."

Arthur treated the mother and child with much kindness. He treated her well and raised Sebastiano as if his own.

Some time after Feliciana had left, Ludwig returned home to Terraverde to find that the palace was unusually quiet and his brother unusually cold to him.

"What has happened while I was away?" he asked Gilbert.

His brother regarded him coolly. "If you must really know," he said. "I have sent your wife and son away."

At first, Ludwig raged like an unchained, wild animal, frightening all his advisors, until Gilbert showed him the letter and the forgery was revealed. The trickery now known and the misunderstanding cleared, Ludwig and Gilbert arranged for a search of the entire land to find Feliciana, promising a sizeable reward to whoever shall bring her back to him. Then, the two of them set sail to look for her themselves.

After many years, they had not found her still for so cleverly she had hid in the mostly unknown and unvisited land of Lagotorbido. However, it had come to their knowledge, through some speculation of Lars's, that it had been Roderich who had tampered with the letters and, after a thorough search of his house that left most of his windows shattered, they had found the letters that had been intended to be sent years ago. Then, his secret exposed, Roderich was forced, under threat of torture, to reveal the entire truth of the story.

In his anger, Ludwig designed to make a candle of Roderich as punishment. He had his men smear the musician all over with wax and tallow and set him atop a great pile of dry wood and set it alight himself. He watched him burning and begging for pardon, but took no action, only turning away when the flames had left nothing more than melted wax and ashes and charred flesh.

Then, as he prepared to set sail once more, he encountered a ship from Pietrasecca bearing King Lovino aboard. Thinking that he might ask if the other knew of Feliciana's whereabouts, Ludwig requested to be allowed to see Lovino.

"What do you want?" Lovino asked quite irritably when he had agreed to meet Ludwig on the deck of his ship.

"I am looking for a girl named Feliciana," Ludwig said. "Perhaps you might be able to help me look for her?"

Lovino frowned and looked at him dismissively. "I am looking for a Feliciana as well," he said. "I have no time to waste on looking for your Feliciana, but, if you must really bother someone about it, you might want to ask the sorcerer of Lagotorbido."

"The sorcerer of Lagotorbido?" Ludwig asked, curious.

"Are you deaf? I do not have to repeat these things," Lovino replied even more irritably, but he was too tired to continue being angry so he told Ludwig anyway. "The sorcerer of Lagotorbido calls all the unfortunate souls of the land to tell him their tale and he who shall be able to tell the most miserable tale shall receive one wish. I am on my way there myself, so you might as well come, but I don't expect you to win."

"I might be able to best you. Do not be so complacent that you will win," Ludwig said. "But let us make a deal: Whosoever shall win has to help the other find their missing Feliciana."

Lovino snorted at Ludwig's suggestion, so assured was he that victory was his, but agreed to the deal anyways. "So be it."

Ludwig sent his brother, who had taken the widowed Erzsébet with him, and their men home to Terraverde and boarded Lovino's ship and they went in company to Lagotorbido where a great many unfortunate men and women had gathered in the palace to relate their unhappy tales to the sorcerer. Arthur received them all and listened patiently to their stories no matter how long.

Finally, Lovino came to stand before Arthur and he began to relate his sad tale. "I come here before you a haunted man," he said. "For, years ago, I have committed an act of wickedness that I had long tried to forget but could not escape. When my wife had died, because of my own stupidity, I wished to marry my own beloved sister, Feliciana, my own flesh and blood and the last of my kin whose hands had enchanted me. To save me from shame, she cut off her own hands so I would hate her and, in my anger, I threw her out to sea in a chest. It was only after I had thrown her out and my temper had cooled that I realized that I had done a terrible thing. I have searched for years for my sister so that I can apologize to her and I am afraid that I might have killed her. All I want is to see that my sorellina is well."

When Lovino had finished speaking, Ludwig stepped up before Arthur and told his own story. "I too had lost a Feliciana," he said, not thinking of the similarities of his own Feliciana with Lovino's. "I had found her born by the waves within a chest and brought her home to my wife to be her maidservant. Before my wife had died, she made me promise to marry Feliciana and that I did. Feliciana bore me a child, a lovely son, they all tell me, but, by the trickery of a wicked man named Roderich, she had been separated from me, thinking that I hated her and wished to burn her. I have exacted revenge on the man that had torn us apart, but that is not what I wish to gain. I have looked for her for years and I have not found her or our son. She probably hates me and does not want to see me anymore, but I want to let her know that I still love her. If it is not too much to ask, I want to be able to hold my Feliciana once more and to see the son that she had borne me."

Then, the other unfortunates came to tell their tales and, after all of them were done, Arthur sent them all away except for Ludwig and Lovino.

"The competition shall be decided between the two of you, it seems," he told them. "But before I announce the winner, there is someone I wish to introduce to the two of you."

He called to the little boy with a strangely familiar face who had been playing by the side of the room and bid him to stand.

"Sebastiano, we have guests," he said to the boy. "It would only be right to show them respect."

Sebastiano was quick to bow before the two with such easy grace that they immediately found his manner very charming and endearing for a child so young.

"Is he your son?" Lovino asked.

"I don't know," Arthur answered. "Perhaps you should ask the mother?"

Then, to Ludwig and Lovino's surprise, Feliciana, who had been listening at the door, entered the room and ran towards her husband and embraced him and kissed him. Then, realizing that Sebastiano was his son that he had never met, Ludwig took the boy into his arms and the three of them held each other for a long while, their joy far too great to describe with words. When they finally let each other go, Feliciana next threw herself into her brother's arms while he repeatedly expressed his guilt and regret in broken sentences and she comforted him, telling him that she forgave him for all that he had done.

"Well, it seems that your misfortune had ended at long last, Feliciana," Arthur said, interrupting the tearful reunion. "As had been promised, I shall award a miracle to the one with the most miserable tale and I have judged that it is Feliciana who had told the saddest tale. What is it that you wish for, Feliciana?"

Feliciana looked at her family around her and felt that she could not ask for more. "I already have all that I could ever want and it is thanks to you that I do," she said.

"Very well, then," Arthur said. "But I shall perform one miracle for you, still. Now, put the stumps of your hands in the folds of your dress."

Feliciana did as she was told and, to her astonishment, when she drew them out once again, her hands had grown out, as beautiful as they had been before.

"I feel that you deserve at least that," Arthur said. "Now, return home and be happy."

They all rejoiced exceedingly and, after profusely thanking Arthur, they all went home to their respective homes and lived long and peaceful lives. Lovino returned home to Pietrasecca and, his guilt finally gone, was able to marry once more and visited Terraverde often with his new wife and their children. Gilbert fell in love with Erzsébet as he consoled her over the death of her wicked husband and, in time, the two of them married. Ludwig and Feliciana, happy and reunited, made Terraverde prosper in their lifetimes and were forever remembered and loved by their people.

* * *

"And they all lived happily ever after!" Italy declared cheerfully.

There was a stunned silence. This was most definitely not the fairy tale they had expected from Italy. From anybody else, it might have been a lot less shocking, but this was sweet, guileless Italy they had just listened to.

"Well that was certainly... unexpected," UN said after a while, far too shocked to think of much else to say. "Does anybody have anything to say?"

He was met by a possibly traumatized silence.

"Anybody?" He was almost begging for somebody to speak up.

"대단해! [Daedanhae!]" South Korea suddenly exclaimed very loudly. "That is the best story so far tonight! It's almost like a Korean drama!"

Then, the rest of East and Southeast Asia began to speak up, commending Italy for his, according to them, startlingly wonderful tale and the staggering amount of suffering he had placed upon his poor heroine.

"I have to say, Italy-san really has an eye for little details."

"I know! I really liked the part where Feliciana's fingers are still twitching when Kiku cut them off!"

"And also when Queen Clara's fingers and toes turned black. That's acral gangrene, I think."

"Hey, hey! What about the part where Ludwig turned Roderich into a candle? The description of the aftermath was amazing!"

"Honestly, I think it is a very apt punishment, aru."

"Feliciana really earned that happy ending."

In no time at all, the East and Southeast Asians were discussing animatedly amongst themselves, eventually moving from Italy's tale to the topic of Asian dramas which, according to them, shared many traits with the story, effectively alienating everyone else from their conversation.

UN, to get everything back on topic, tried to break up their little discussion, but, apparently, there was nothing that could get in the way of a bunch of Asians debating about TV dramas.

"Would you all just stop it?" North Korea, who had kept silent all throughout, shouted, effectively making the other Asians quiet down. Then, she clutched the blanket that she had used to cover her entire body even more tightly around herself and hid her face. "Sometimes, I'm embarrassed to even be related to any of you," she muttered.

UN decided to take the succeeding silence as an opportunity and cleared his throat. "Well, does anybody who was not just discussing TV dramas have anything to say?"

"Pairing me up with Hungary again!" Prussia shouted, but was ignored, mostly.

A little warily, an ashen-faced America raised his hand.

"Yes, America," UN said.

"Italy, do you hate the world?" he asked. "I mean, are you some sort of sadist or masochist or something?"

Italy cocked his head to the side innocently. "Hmm? What do you mean?"

"Well... There are a lot of things that are questionable in your tale," America replied, obviously a little uncomfortable. "There's the incest and mutilation and the cruel and unusual punishment..."

"Huh?" Italy asked, even more confused. "'Cruel and unusual punishment'?"

"That part with Roderich being turned into a giant candle. I know that some people here liked it, but that's kind of sick, you know."

"It's just part of the fairy tale," Italy replied simply.

"But you have to admit that it was kind of sick. Does anyone agree with me?" he asked, a little desperate for reassurance that it was indeed a sick display to restore his faith in the goodness of the world. "Even just a little? Prussia?"

"Eh, it's common fairy tale fare," Prussia said with a shrug. "I'm more concerned that he paired me up with Hungary. That's the second time tonight."

America sought support elsewhere. "Austria? How about you? You have to be even a little bit disturbed. Roderich was meant to represent you, so you have to be disturbed. Tell me that you're disturbed."

"I thought that the details in the description of the remains were a creative touch," Austria replied with his usual calm.

America hung his head and contemplated the states of mind of his fellow nations, his faith in the goodness of the world reduced, just a little bit.

"Don't think about it too much," Denmark said, patting America's back. "It's Austria. He's a semi-freak as it is and a lot of his fairy tales go the same way. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd had something similar done to him before. In fact, I'd have to ask Hungary about it," he said mischievously. "Or Czechia."

Austria regarded Denmark with a slight frown of annoyance. "It is unnecessary for me to tell you about what I think about being killed in a fairy tale and it would be best for us all if you do not inquire further about it," he said. "There is somebody who deserves the attention more, I believe."

Then, as if suddenly remembering, everybody turned their heads towards Romano who was sitting quietly with an expression that betrayed neither praise nor dislike.

"Romano?" Italy asked gently. "Did you – "

"Zitto!" Romano cut him off harshly and looked down at his notebook, absently flipping through the pages.

"Romano?" Italy repeated, but was ignored by his older brother.

"He's sore that you cast him as the villain in your story," Holy See replied inattentively.

"But, fratello," Italy said, frantically going to his brother. "Lovino was redeemed at the end of the story. He had a happy ending. Didn't you hear the last part?"

Romano suddenly raised his head and levelled a glare at Italy.

"But you still chose me as the villain," he said through gritted teeth. "That says a lot about what you think about me. I'm always the bad guy, aren't I?"

"No!" Italy said defensively. "The story called for a brother..."

"You have four brothers!" Romano growled. "And you chose me."

"Romano, that isn't fair to your brother!" Belgium admonished.

Before anyone could say more, Romano had stood up and walked up to the podium with his notebook.

"I'm telling the next story," he said.

* * *

**More Author's Notes: The story for this chapter is retelling of the Italian fairy tale, "Penta of the Chopped Off Hands", as told by Giambattista Basile in "Il Pentamerone", a collection of tales believed to have circulated throughout Crete and Venice.**

**Characters in the Fairy Tale: Feliciana - Italy; Lovino - Romano; Ludwig - Germany; Sebastiano - Seborga; Arthur - England; Gilbert - Prussia; Roderich - Austria; Erzsébet - Hungary; Kiku - Japan; Romulus - Rome; Clara - Belgium; Lars - Netherlands; Carmen - Spain**

**Italian words: fratello - brother; fratellone - older brother; fratellino - younger brother; sorellina - younger sister; nonno - grandfather; grazie - thank you; storpia - cripple/maimed person (feminine); mi dispiace - I am sorry; zitto! - shut up!**

**German words: ja - yes**

**Korean words: 대단해! [daedanhae!] - that's amazing!**

**A few translations regarding place names that might be interesting to some: Pietrasecca - Dry Stone; Terraverde - Green Land; Altoscoglio - High Rock; Lagotorbido - Turbid Lake**

**Italy's story was primarily chosen because it was fun to show that Italy does have a side that could be a little dark and is quite accepting of violent and disturbing things. The country has experienced much over the centuries, after all. Also, this is chapter five and the pun on Penta was just too good to ignore. The story is also of Venetian origin, which would make it very appropriate for Italy.**

**For those who are confused who Italy's four brothers are, they are Romano (South Italy), Seborga, San Marino and Holy See (Vatican City), in this fanfic at least.**

**As expected there is history in this chapter again. They tend to be disconnected, but they are there. The most readily evident would be how, after the fall of the Roman Empire, Italy was left to be conquered and reigned over by stronger countries of that time, particularly during the Medieval Ages. Italy experienced a lot of trouble through the course of its history, as is expected of any country. Another would be the reference Bubonic Plague, more commonly known as the Black Death or simply the Plague, that swept through parts of Europe and Asia Minor and devastated Italy. The description of Belgium's disease, particularly the spread of acral gangrene on the extremities, are symptoms of the late stages of infection of Yersinia pestis bacteria. For some time, Italy was under the reign of the Austrian Hapsburgs and, subsequently, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which was also covered in the Chibitalia segments, explaining why Italy was a maid in Austria's household. Belgium being the queen of Terraverde and Italy's fondness for her is a reference to ****Marie José of Belgium, the last queen of Italy, who is well-known for her thirty-five day tenure as queen consort and is fondly remembered as the "May Queen" by the Italian people. However, it is also referenced in the story that Belgium and Germany's marriage was not in the best of circumstances and that would be historically-rooted in what is known as the Rape of Belgium, an invasion of German forces in 1914, thus violating the neutrality of Belgium, accompanied by reports of numerous wartime atrocities. The passing mention of Belgium being carried off by Austria is a reference to the point in history when Belgium was ceded by Spain to Austria. ********The windows of Austria's house being shattered is a reference to Kristallnacht, also known as Crystal Night or the Night of Broken Glass, an anti-Jewish pogrom carried out by SA soldiers throughout Nazi Germany and Austria on November 9-10, 1938, wherein the streets became littered with shards of broken glass from Jewish-owned stores, buildings and synagogues. Historically, Germany did "kill" Austria for a while. Through the Anschluss, or ****Anschluss Österreichs, Austria was either unified with or annexed by Nazi Germany, depending on perspective, and during the time period of 1938-1945, Austria did not exist as a separate entity and was known simply as Ostmark, the Eastern march, rendering it merely the Eastern realm of the German Reich. It was not until 1955 that Austria regained full sovereignty.**

**There is a joke in there about Austria and masochism that some might not readily understand. To clarify, the origin of the term "masochism" is from the surname of the Austrian writer, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, who is most well-known for his novel, "Venus in Furs", in which the main character asks a woman he is obsessed with to make him her slave and gains pleasure from her degrading and brutal treatment of him. Also, von Sacher-Masoch himself was known to be a masochist. It might contribute some to the joke that Austrian fairy tales, or much of what I have read of it, have a tendency to be morbid and have a fondness for endings that say "then they died" or "and then he brutally killed them all". **


	6. Because My Little Brother is an Idiot

**Author's Notes: I apologize for the long absence. I was a little busy with school and other things, but here is Romano's chapter. Also, I apologize for the relatively large amount of Italian words in this chapter; I tend to get carried away with Italian. As for those wondering about my pairing preferences as they read this fanfic, the simple answer to that would be that I have none. I am a multi-shipper. I ship whatever I find interesting for the moment, so feel free to recommend fairy tales in my suggestion thread (the link is provided on my profile) and pairings you might want to see without worrying too much about my personal preferences. And, lastly, no, the fact that I ship things like SpaIta or EstBela does not make me evil. There are other, more nefarious things for which you must accuse me of being evil. That shameless self-advertisement down there, for example. **

**Chapter-Specific Warnings: violence, blood, senseless killing**

**Shameless Self-Advertising: Again, I encourage you to visit my suggestions thread and share your ideas. I would love to hear them. My poll is also still open, so please answer it if you have the time and have not answered yet. For lovers of rare pairs and crack ships, I have also made a forum thread (also linked on my profile) for their appreciation. Please check it out if you are interested. Just jump right into the conversation.**

* * *

"Romano, I made it quite clear," UN said warningly. "The rules state that the stories are meant to let others know more about yourself, not to provoke other nations."

Romano did not budge from where he stood and merely crossed his arms in stubborn defiance. "Shut up," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm not starting a war with another nation."

"It's a war regardless of whether it is external or internal," UN reasoned. "You are not allowed to use your story to get revenge either." With the sternest expression he could manage with his child-like face, he glared at Romano and pointed firmly at the Southern Italian's sleeping bag. "Sit down until your head has cooled enough. Only then can you tell your story."

"What makes you think I'm telling my story for revenge?" Romano sniffed, defensive and obviously offended. "I'm not the one provoking other nations. Isn't that right?" he asked, although it was uncertain whether it had been directed at Spain or Italy.

Regardless, both Italy and Spain did not protest or speak out at all, although it was quite clear to many that neither had intended to provoke Romano the way they ended up doing. It wasn't like they meant to make Romano angry. They were just telling their stories, after all.

Belgium, however, had something to say about it. "You're being unfair, Romano," she told him quite bluntly, her tone scolding. "Sit down and let somebody else tell their story for now."

"I'm telling mine," Romano said stubbornly.

"No," Belgium said firmly. "Sit down. You're not telling yours until you get your temper under control. Sit down before you tell a story you'll regret later. Think about it before you decide to be unfair."

"Just do as she says, brat," Netherlands put in.

"I'm not the one being unfair here," Romano said, shooting another glare at Spain and Italy.

"Nobody was trying to provoke you," UN pointed out, exasperated. "You're the one who put hidden meanings in things that they probably didn't even think of that much."

"Just shut up and let me tell my story," Romano growled, losing his patience. "I wrote the story days ago. It's all in here already." He held out his notebook and rapidly flipped through the pages, showing that he had indeed written something beforehand. "It's not like I'm making the story up on the spot."

Romano did have a point.

"Fine," UN said in defeat. "Just get this out of your system already and be done with it."

"Yeah, fine. Whatever," Romano muttered. "Now, go sit down and listen quietly," he said much more loudly to UN.

Without putting up a fight, UN plopped himself down on Romano's sleeping bag.

On the mat right next to him, Holy See was chuckling quite uncharacteristically as he closed his book, looking like the young boy he was instead of an old man stuck in an adolescent's body like he usually seemed.

"You are going to enjoy this," he told UN.

UN blanched. He wasn't really sure what to make of that statement, but, if Holy See was acting out of character, it couldn't mean anything good.

"Okay, everybody shut up," Romano said authoritatively, as if everybody in the room were his younger siblings. "I'm going to start my story now, so nobody's allowed to talk anymore." Then, he cleared his throat dramatically. "All of this happened long ago," he said in a completely different tone voice, sounding like a seasoned storyteller.

* * *

**Because My Idiotic Little Brother is in Love with a Statue**

There was once a kingdom that time had very nearly forgotten long ago but for this tale which refused to fade into oblivion with the rest. It had started out small and weak, but, under the leadership of a young man named Romulus, it came to be great and powerful and he came to be its king in time. When King Romulus grew old and weak, suffering from a great many ills he had accumulated from his years on the battlefield, he wished for his two grandsons to marry and produce heirs before he died, so that he may see that the prosperous and powerful kingdom that he had raised would not die with him.

He had his grandsons called to his bedside while he could still speak and his mind was still clear enough. "I want to see the both of you wed and with sons of your own before I die," he told them both.

Feliciano, the youngest prince and Romulus's favourite, was quick to express his agreement to his grandfather's wishes between his broken sobs although he truly did not yet wish to give up the freedom of his youth in exchange for married life.

The older of the two, Lovino, looked down upon his grandfather with pity. Romulus was but a ghost of the man he had once been and Lovino knew that it was because he had let himself grow reckless after their grandmother had died. He had seen too many men waste away and become shadows of their former selves when their wives had died before themselves, including his grandfather and his father, to want the same fate for himself, so he had vowed to never marry. He would forego his birth right in favour of his younger brother so long as he did not have to live his forefathers' lot.

He wanted to tell his grandfather exactly what he thought of marriage, but decided that it would be unnecessarily cruel of him to burden a dying old man with such things and held his tongue. "I will think about it," he said to please his grandfather although he had no intention of even considering it.

Romulus smiled, happy with his lie, and sent the two princes away so he might rest, unaware that neither of his grandsons had any intention to marry soon.

For the next few days, the brothers did not come to see their grandfather and did not talk to each other, each waiting for the first one to speak, both fully aware that the other had no desire to find a bride anytime soon.

Finally, it was Lovino who first approached his brother to discuss the matter of their grandfather's last wish.

"Just give the old man what he's asking for," he told Feliciano as they strolled through the capital. He cast a glance at the young maidens trailing his brother's form with shy sideways looks and let out a sigh. "You seem to be quite popular with the ladies, anyway."

"You don't understand, fratellone," Feliciano said with a smile. "I have yet to meet the right girl."

Lovino was incredulous. "What do you mean you have not found the right girl?" he asked disbelievingly. "With the number of girls you woo at balls, I would be surprised if you hadn't found twenty of the right kind of girl, at least."

It was true. Feliciano was notorious among women for his charm, his warm smiles and sweet words always managing to send aflutter the heart of every girl he met. He drew crowds of women to him at balls, leaving Lovino to be ignored by them save for the most desperate of the lot, and he would not really have it any other way, although he felt a twinge of jealousy every once in a while.

"Surely, you dream about your perfect girl as well," Feliciano said as if dreaming.

Lovino huffed in exasperation. "No," he answered simply. "I have no wish to marry."

"Do have a sense of romance, fratellone," Feliciano chuckled before he ran ahead into the plaza.

Lovino could only sigh as he followed his younger brother, cursing romance and marriage under his breath.

He was so distracted by the task that he managed to bump into Feliciano, who had suddenly stopped walking.

"Why did you stop?" he yelled at his brother.

Feliciano ignored him and continued to stare at whatever it was that had caught his attention. "She's the one," he said adoringly.

Confused and irritated, Lovino followed his gaze and nearly burst out laughing. Feliciano was staring at a sculpture of a statuesque young woman with a resolute look on her finely-chiselled face done in warm, glowing marble. She was life-like, looking almost like any woman who might have walked along the cobblestones of the plaza but for her unusual height, and he could almost picture her stepping down from the pedestal on which she stood proudly, hands clasped as if in prayer as she looked determinedly heavenwards.

"My fratellino is in love with a statue!" Lovino snorted, unable to restrain his laughter.

Feliciano was unfazed by his brother's teasing. "She's the one, fratellone," he said again. "She's the perfect girl. It's her I want."

Lovino laughed at his younger brother's foolishness. "You can't marry her, idiota," he said. "She's made of stone and you're of blood and flesh. She will not bear you any children no matter what you do, be it through nature or stupid tricks of sorcery."

Despite Lovino's ridicule and, subsequently, desperate pleas to see reason, Feliciano had the statue brought back to the palace, paying the sculptor, a young man named Herakles, a handsome fee for his masterpiece and extolling the greatness of his hands, which, from humble stone, had brought forth the likeness of a creature of such unparalleled beauty, and kept it in his room. He would admire her for hours and hours, imagining what it would be like to hold her and kiss her, and, sometimes, he would try just that and pretend that he felt warm flesh instead of cold marble. Talk of Feliciano and his beloved statue began to go around the palace. Everybody thought that the younger prince had gone mad, spending most of his time locked away in his room with the statue and refusing to come out even when his grandfather called for him.

Eventually, Lovino had to explain to their grandfather why Feliciano no longer went to visit him.

"It's this statue that he's become infatuated with, Nonno," he said. "He keeps it in his room and plays around with it all day and all night. The household is beginning to talk."

To his surprise, Romulus stood and got out of bed as if he had not been sick at all and stormed to Feliciano's room in a fit of rage and Lovino had to run to keep up and ensure that the old man would not just keel over dead as soon as his temper was spent and to put himself between his seething grandfather and his little brother if he needed to.

"You will quit this foolishness and marry!" Romulus bellowed, even more enraged when he saw for his own eyes that the servants' gossip had all been true. Then, all his anger leaving him when he saw how he had terrified Feliciano to tears, his strength disappeared and he felt his illnesses once more. He turned to his older grandson and left him to do the rest. "Get rid of the statue," he bade Lovino and left to return to his sickbed.

Feliciano cried and clung to his beloved statue as Lovino had it carried out to the courtyard by men from a nearby stone quarry, begging his brother to stop. Lovino did not listen, although he wished for his brother to stop crying, and had the quarrymen smash the statue apart with their mallets. It was for Feliciano's sake anyway, he thought, for it would spare him the lifetime of ridicule that he would otherwise have lived if he had kept the statue with him, and told himself that he had only done what his grandfather had asked and that was the least he could do for the old man after he had quietly resolved not to grant him his other wish.

However, days later, he came to regret his decision to obey his grandfather. Feliciano had locked himself inside his room, refusing to eat or sleep or even talk to anybody. He had become but a shadow of his cheerful and carefree self and even Romulus voiced his remorse over his moment of poor judgement.

Unable to see the boy so heartbroken over a pile of rubble, Lovino went to find Herakles in town and asked him to create another statue more beautiful than the one he had had destroyed. He paid a handsome sum and Herakles set to work fashioning another stone maiden, this time, dainty and gentle and sweetly smiling and made of warm alabaster. Feliciano took one look at it and never gazed upon it again and returned to his sulking. Once more, Lovino found Herakles and the sculptor carved a maiden with a forlorn face and a languorous manner out of dark serpentine and, just as before, Feliciano rejected it.

By this time, Lovino had come to realize that only the statue of that unusually tall woman with the resolute face could make Feliciano smile again as he used to. "It needs to look like her," he told Herakles when he found the artisan out sleeping in the sun.

"I can't make it look like her," Herakles reasoned. "I can barely remember the face of the maiden who had inspired me to carve it in the first place. Perhaps, if I could return to the kingdom where I had glimpsed her, I could remember enough to make you another statue."

"Well, then, buon a nulla, it seems we are set for a trip," Lovino said without hesitation.

Barely a week later, he had assembled a crew and arranged for a ship to bear them northwards towards the kingdom Herakles had told him about.

Before he left, he came to visit Feliciano once more, but his little brother merely looked at him with a blank face and refused to talk.

"I'm leaving for a while," Lovino told his unresponsive brother wearily. "Just wait here and try not to do more foolish things while I'm away."

It was only then that Feliciano decided to answer him. "I will," he said and, although it wasn't much, it was all Lovino needed to hear from his little brother.

Then, having said his goodbyes to his grandfather as well, he and Herakles set off on the ship and arrived soon after at the bustling docks of the cold Northern kingdom. As soon as they had set foot on land, Herakles was suddenly alight with uncharacteristic energy, so different from his usual languorous manner, and spoke of getting right to work on the statue, inspiration having suddenly coming over him. Then, selecting a block of glowing marble and a quiet spot in the otherwise noisy town, he immediately set to work on his next masterpiece.

Lovino, deciding to leave the artisan in peace to do his work, went off to town to explore the market that attracted merchants and craftsmen from beyond the seas and soon found himself lost in crowds or people milling about to do their shopping and vendors loudly hawking their wares. Not one to like noisy or crowded places, he retreated into a narrow, less peopled street and was irritated to find that a small crowd had gathered in the middle of the cobblestone path and blocked his way.

Still, curious to see what had so caught their attention so far from the noise and bustle of the market, he pushed past them and towards the centre and was amazed by what he saw. In the middle of the ring was a little grey mouse dressed like a person in miniature clothes dancing to the melody of a music box, while its owner, a tall masked man named Sadiq, spun a tale of bloody conquest and disastrous love and how he had come to possess the dancing mouse, a gift of gratitude from a faraway king who had told him that it was the only one of its kind. Lovino smiled as he found the dancing mouse amusing and endearing, with its human-like manner, and thought that Feliciano would smile too if he saw it dancing and twirling to the sound of the music box.

"Oy, narratore! How much are you selling the dancing mouse for?" Lovino called out to Sadiq, who was busy collecting coins from the other onlookers.

"It is not for sale," Sadiq told him. "And, even if it was, I doubt that you would be able to pay its full price."

Lovino refused to back down and remained even as the rest of the crowd dispersed. "I'll pay a good sum," he insisted. "Just name your price."

Then, seeing that Lovino was dressed richly in the manner of royalty and wealthy noblemen, Sadiq changed his mind and named a very high price, claiming that the dancing mouse was actually worth so much but, out of the goodness of his heart, he was willing to sell it for such a low amount.

"Are you trying to trick me, lestofante?" Lovino asked angrily. "You told me that the mouse was a gift to you. You paid nothing for it and you expect me to give you so much for it?"

"Then, perhaps you do not want to buy the mouse, after all?" Sadiq replied calmly and, putting the mouse back into its cage, he began to leave.

"Wait! I'll pay!" Lovino shouted, trying to catch up. "I'll give you half the sum you named."

Sadiq turned back to him, but refused to sell at what he said was a ridiculously low price and said he would gladly make the sale at a price only slightly lower than the first. Still, Lovino refused the offer and bargained for a still lower price and Sadiq replied with a bargain of his own. It was only after a lot of haggling that the two agreed on a price and Sadiq received his gold and Lovino walked away with the dancing mouse's cage and the music box tucked under his arm.

Surely, Feliciano would smile and laugh when he saw the dancing mouse and he could almost imagine the boy returning to his former cheerful self.

It was a little while later, after wandering for some time in the town, when he saw a man playing a guitar on the corner of some street. Perched on the branches of the tree above him was a plain little bird singing to the tune of his playing with a voice that belonged more to an angel than to any winged creature that flew over the earth. It was even more amazing when it began to sing with words like a human being but with an angelic voice that belonged on no human tongue. Lovino had seen talking birds from the South before, but all of them had bright plumage and harsh voices, so he knew that this one was unlike any other bird he had seen before. It sang a ballad of woe and loss and regret so heartbreakingly sweet that Lovino found himself almost crying and he thought that Feliciano would love to hear its song too for the boy was so fond of music and stories.

"Oy, musicista! How much are you selling the singing bird for?" he asked the guitarist, a young man named Antonio.

Antonio stopped strumming his guitar and looked up at the bird above him. "Oh, I don't own it," he said. "I don't even know why it follows me around. It just does. I guess it just likes my playing," he added with a hint of pride.

"Well, do you want to sell it or not?" Lovino huffed. "I have the money and I'm willing to pay you handsomely for it."

Antonio was suddenly interested. He really didn't earn much with his guitar playing and the chance to make a good sale was too tempting to pass up. "How much are you offering?" he asked.

Lovino took out a pouch from his pocket and let the gold coins slide into his palm to show Antonio just how much he was willing to pay.

"That is quite a lot," Antonio said, eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of gold. "But, don't you have more to offer? It is a special bird, the only one of its kind."

"This is all I'm giving you," Lovino said. "Some masked swindler had already taken the rest for a dancing mouse. Are you willing to sell it to me or not?"

"Well, I guess this is enough," Antonio replied as he took the gold from Lovino's hand.

Then, he climbed up the tree and tied the end of a length of twine around the singing bird's ankle and tied the other end to the dancing mouse's cage and sent Lovino off while smiling and waving goodbye.

Lovino had two presents for Feliciano now and he was certain that they would be able to make his little brother smile and, when he saw the maiden that Herakles had carved, he would surely become like his old self again and all would be well.

As he made his way back to where he left Herakles, he was surprised when he ran into the sculptor on a narrow street lined with houses on either side.

"What are you doing here?" he asked Herakles angrily. "Go back to carving that statue."

Herakles pointed to the window of one of the houses. "I found her," he said. "I found the maiden who had inspired the sculpture."

"And why must you tell me this?" Lovino asked, not quite understanding the significance of it. "Go back to work."

"Well, I thought that, if you're brother had been happy with a mere replica, he would be overjoyed if he could see the maiden for himself," Herakles reasoned and, for the first time, Lovino had to accept that the sculptor was smarter than he appeared to be.

Before either of them could utter another word, the door of the house flew open and a white-haired man stumbled out into the streets. The woman who had who had thrown him out stood by the open door and Lovino could see the perfect resemblance she bore to Feliciano's beloved statue with her statuesque height and her resolute face that could very easily be called stern. This was indeed the girl his brother had been dreaming about.

"Ingrata!" the white-haired man spat as he picked himself up from where he had fallen on the cobblestones and whirled around to face the woman. "Ever since Papa died, I had raised you myself as if you were my child and not my sister and this is how you repay me? By throwing me out into the streets?"

"Get out, Gilbert," the woman said firmly. "You only cause me trouble. I can't let you stay in this house anymore."

Gilbert gathered up what little belongings the woman had thrown out with him and stood to leave. "Someday, you'll know my pain, Monika," he said before he turned and walked down the road.

Then, Monika sighed and went to close the door, but stopped when she saw Lovino approaching and opened the door wider.

"Can I help you?" she asked him.

"I'm a merchant," Lovino lied, having already devised a plot carry Monika off. "May I interest you in buying a mirror? I have mirrors of all shapes and sizes, all made from the finest glass and cheap too. Won't you take a look?"

"Si, I'll take a look at your wares," Monika answered.

"They're on my ship," Lovino said. "You'll have to come with me to the dock, but I assure you that the mirrors would be worth the look."

Monika, confident in her ability to protect herself from any ill intentions and attempts of robbery, followed Lovino and Herakles aboard the ship without hesitation and was surprised by a dozen or so men who attacked her at Lovino's order. She struggled and fought, but more came and, eventually, she was overwhelmed and found herself shackled around her wrists and ankles.

"Release me this instant!" Monika yelled in indignation as she tried to see to break free. Then, finding she could not unbind herself, she tackled him to the floor and furiously hit him with her bound hands and he found out that he could not push her away from him.

"Lasciami!" he yelled as he desperately struggled to crawl away, but she was stronger and continued to pound his head with her fists and all he could do was curse at her as she did.

It took four men to subdue her and get her off him and, as soon as he was able to stand, Lovino had the crew lock her up below the deck and had them set sail as quickly as they were able.

The trip back home was quiet and the sea was smooth and calm and, with Monika locked up where he would not have to see her, Lovino was able to rest peacefully. He took to sleeping out in the sun on the deck and, during their days on the sea, nobody disturbed when he slept, except for a little yellow bird that suddenly alighted near his head and began to sing.

Sciocco principe,

Show your brother the dancing mouse,

You will turn his head,

And when you tell him what you found,

You will turn to stone.

Annoyed, Lovino sat up and tried to frighten the bird away, but it refused to leave him alone and continued singing, much louder than before.

Sciocco principe,

Show your brother the singing bird,

You will turn his head,

And when you tell him what you found,

You will turn to stone.

Then, coming to understand what the bird was saying, Lovino stopped and listened intently as the bird continued its little song.

Sciocco principe,

Show your brother the maiden,

You will turn his head,

And when you tell him what you found,

You will turn to stone.

Even now, do you still wish to see him smile?

Before he could catch it, the bird flew away and out of Lovino's grasp, leaving him to worry about his fate. If he spoke a word of the things he had found and brought home, he would turn to stone as the bird said and he was certain that Feliciano would be full of questions as soon as he lays his eyes upon any of the three. There was no way to escape his end unless he was to get rid of the dancing mouse, the singing bird and the maiden that he had carried off. He would live then, but Feliciano would remain miserable and he could not bear to see his brother like that. Death would be preferable to taking away his brother's happiness, so he accepted his fate.

As soon as they arrived back home, he gathered up what he had found and headed back to the palace, refusing to talk to anyone but Herakles. He went to Feliciano's room first, where the boy was still sulking, just as he had left him, only a little thinner and paler.

Lovino brought out the dancing mouse, set it on the floor and let the music box play its happy little tune. The mouse began to dance and hop and twirl and Feliciano's face lit up with a smile of amusement.

"Is this for me, fratellone?" he asked.

Then, without a word, Lovino picked up the dancing mouse, took his dagger from his belt, and slit its throat so that they would no longer have to speak about it. Feliciano was horrified by the senseless bloodshed, but quieted when Lovino presented him with the singing bird which immediately began to sing its wretched tale and Feliciano clapped in delight.

"Is this for me, fratellone?" he asked again.

Once more, Lovino picked up the bird and slit its throat so that Feliciano would no longer ask him about it. Then, he presented Monika before him and all Feliciano's fear was forgotten when he saw the maiden he had fallen in love with in blood and flesh and she was more beautiful than her likeness carved in marble.

"Is this for me, fratellone?" he asked, desperate for an answer now.

For a moment, Lovino hesitated to speak. It would be so easy to slit Monika's throat like he had the dancing mouse and the singing bird. It would be ever so easy as he bore no liking for her, but he loved his little brother far too much to ever harm his beloved, so he stilled his hand. Feliciano, however, grew fearful that he would do to Monika what he had done to his other presents and, before Lovino could tell his little brother that Monika was indeed for him, Feliciano had called the guards and had him arrested and locked away in the dungeon to await his sentence.

Years passed and Lovino stayed in his dark, miserable cell, silent as he waited for the day when the executioner would come to lead him to the gallows that would be his end. Nobody came to visit him except Herakles from whom he learned that Feliciano had married Monika and Romulus had died peacefully in his sleep shortly after, his mind too clouded to wonder where his oldest grandson had gone. It was almost as if most of the world had forgotten him and he preferred it that way if it meant that his brother was happy and would not miss him when he was put to death.

On the day of his execution, however, Feliciano seemed to remember him and came to visit him in his cell. The boy, now grown into a fine man, looked so different from when Lovino had last seen him, so much stronger and like their father before he journeyed eastwards, never to return home. He looked his older brother in the eyes and, in a steady voice, asked him the question he had been meaning to ask years before.

"Why don't you speak to me, fratellone?" he asked. "It's been years since you last spoke to me. At least, let me here your voice before you must die. Tell me why you are so angry and miserable."

Overcome with sadness and the anger that he had held back in his years of imprisonment, Lovino could not help but yell at his brother. "Idiota! All of this is your fault!" he accused Feliciano. "All my suffering is because of you, all because you fell in love with a silly statue. All I did, I did to bring the smile back to your face because I knew it was my fault that you were miserable and I could not bear live with that knowledge. And, in the end, I must still suffer, but that means little to me when I know you are happy."

"I don't understand," Feliciano said in confusion.

"Since I am to die today, anyway, I would tell you why I killed the dancing mouse and the singing bird," Lovino replied. "When I sailed northwards, I came upon three wondrous things and decided to bring them back to you. On my way home, a little yellow bird alighted near my head and spoke of things to come. It said that if I shall tell you of the dancing mouse that I had purchased from a masked man named Sadiq, I shall turn to stone, so I slit its throat so you may not ask me about it." Then, he became stone from his feet to his waist, but he continued to speak. "And, if I shall tell you about the singing bird which I had gotten from a musician named Antonio, I shall turn to stone, so I slit its throat so you may not ask me about it." Then, he became stone up to his shoulders, but he still continued to speak. "And, if I shall tell you about the maiden whose likeness you had fallen in love with, I shall turn to stone, but I stilled my hand so you may be happy with her." Then, his head became stone and he spoke no more.

Having learned of his brother's sacrifice for his happiness, Feliciano mourned the loss of his older brother and spent years looking for a way to reverse the curse that had turned Lovino into a statue. Although Monika, bearing not an inkling of affection for Lovino, tried to convince her husband to stop his search, but Feliciano continued to scour the land for a magician who knew how to reverse the spell. Magicians and fakes came from all over the land to try their hand at breaking Lovino's curse, but, no matter what they did, they could not turn stone back to blood and flesh. Eventually, after so many failures and fakes, Feliciano came upon a magician named Roderich, who, without even trying to undo the spell with magic incantations and brews like the others before him had done, shook his head and said that he could do nothing against such a powerful curse.

"I have seen this only once before and I know of only one man who has the power to reverse this spell," Roderich said. "He had been missing for some years but I believe that I know where I can find him."

"Can you bring him here?" Feliciano asked hopefully.

"Of course," Roderich replied. "But be prepared to meet his demands."

With some reassuring words, Roderich departed to find and bring back the man and was back soon after with a man whose features were obscured by a heavy cloak.

The cloaked man examined the statue that had once been Lovino and turned back towards Feliciano. "There is only one way to reverse the spell," he said. "Only the blood of your children sprinkled over the statue would be able to turn stone back into blood and flesh. Will you be willing to sacrifice the lives of your children for the life of your older brother?"

By that time, Feliciano had fathered three sons who Monika had named Leonzio, Sebastiano and Marcello, all of whom their mother absolutely adored. Feliciano loved all of them as well, but he loved his older brother too and he felt that, in gratitude for Lovino's sacrifices for his sake, he should also sacrifice part of his own happiness in exchange, so he told the cloaked man to do as he must. Monika, however, would have none of it and opposed her husband's judgement. She became furious when he decided to sacrifice their three children for his brother who, in her eyes, had been dead for years and could not be brought back no matter what they did and she kept the boys always under her watch so that Feliciano may not get to them.

Undeterred, the cloaked man devised a plan to distract Monika and get the children. Feliciano threw a ball and invited all the nobles and prominent merchants and artisans of their kingdom, so Monika was kept busy entertaining them all and, while Roderich whisked her off to dance, Feliciano and the cloaked man carried away her sons and used their blood to reverse Lovino's curse. By the time she realized that Roderich had been purposefully distracting her, she was too late and she found her three sons cold and pale and lifeless upon the cold stone floor of the dark cell and Lovino was a man once more, the blood they had bathed him in having washed away the curse that had rendered him a statue.

Overcome with rage, she tackled Lovino to the floor and hit him as Feliciano and the cloaked man struggled to pull her off him.

"Unhand me!" she shouted at them as she shrugged them off. "This man has caused me nothing but trouble, save for allowing me to meet Feliciano. Now, he is the reason that my children are dead. I should end him right now!"

"You are mistaken," the cloaked man said. "Look at your children. They are merely sleeping."

Monika looked again at her sons and saw that indeed they were only asleep and completely unharmed and she questioned if she had truly seen them dead just a while ago.

"This is a trick," she said. "I am certain that they were dead when I found them. What trick is this, mago?"

Then, the cloaked man revealed himself to be Gilbert, Monika's older brother who she had thrown out of their home years ago because his dealings in magic invited all sorts of unpleasant characters who caused trouble and brought danger upon them. He continued on to say that he had orchestrated everything, from the little yellow bird to Lovino's curse to the seeming death of Monika's children.

"Why did you do all this?" Monika asked him, still angry and confused.

Gilbert chuckled. "It is to teach you a lesson, sorellina," he said. "Now, you know how a parent loves his children. I hope you appreciate me a little more from now on."

"After all that you have done, I do not think that it would be possible for me to appreciate you," Monika replied, but Feliciano was quick to chastise her and she eventually forgave her older brother.

Then, they all made peace and remained happy and contented. Feliciano continued to rule the kingdom with wisdom and justice that would have made Romulus proud. As for Lovino, he assembled a crew and set sail with Herakles once more to explore the world in search of his own happiness.

* * *

"So what's the message of this story?" Romano asked expectantly, looking particularly at Italy whose face was cast down at the floor. "Anybody?"

Before anybody could even attempt to answer, UN was sputtering in disbelief. "That's it?" he asked, now extremely confused. "That's your story?"

"Not what you expected?" Romano asked, appearing to be quite proud of himself.

"But, Holy See... He said..." UN continued to gibber. Then, he whirled around to face the snickering Holy See. "You said that I was 'going to enjoy this'!" he said accusatorily.

"Didn't you?" Holy See asked, suddenly composing himself.

UN forced himself to calm down as well. "I did, but that's not what I meant!" he said. "I thought it was going to be bloody or weird but it was... normal."

"I told you that it wasn't a revenge story," Romano said smugly. "You always assume that I'm about to do something horrible."

"Well, you do make it seem that way most of the time," UN pointed out. "You can't really blame them."

"I still think somebody owes me an apology," Romano said, eyeing UN expectantly.

With a sigh, UN conceded defeat. "Okay, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have expected you tell some crazy revenge story."

"I'll accept that," Romano said self-importantly. Then, he turned back towards everybody else. "So, I'm going to ask you all again. What's the message of the story?"

"Respect your older brothers," China put in. "And older sisters, too, aru," he added. "Appreciate the sacrifices that they make for you."

"Yeah, that," Lovino said dismissively. "But what else?"

"Never anger a magician," Denmark suggested, glancing warily at Norway.

Lovino shook his head. "No."

"Love makes even the strongest men weak?" Monaco asked.

"No."

"Can you give us a hint, at least?" UN asked, getting tired of guessing already.

Lovino thought for a while. "It's a far more personal message," he said.

"I know!" South Korea shouted. "You hate dancing mice and singing birds!"

"What?" UN said incredulously.

"It's so simple," Holy See said with a sigh. "He'll do anything for Veneziano, even if it hurts him."

"Is that what you meant by your story, fratello?" Italy asked Romano.

Romano snorted, but didn't sound condescending when he spoke. "What else did you want it to be about, idiota?" he asked.

Italy's reaction was to be expected. He launched himself at his brother and tackled him in a hug. "Ti voglio bene, fratello!"

Romano smiled and ruffled his brother's hair. "Anch'io ti voglio bene. Sei perdonato."

* * *

**More Author's Notes: This chapter is a retelling of the Italian fairy tale, "In Love with a Statue", as collected by Thomas Frederick Crane in "Italian Popular Tales".**

**Characters: Lovino - Romano; Feliciano - Italy; Romulus - Rome; Herakles - Greece; Monika - Germany; Gilbert - Prussia; Sadiq - Turkey; Antonio - Spain; Roderich - Austria; Sebastiano - Seborga; Leonzio - San Marino; Marcello - Holy See**

**Italian Words: fratello - brother; fratellone - older brother; fratellino - younger brother; sorellina - younger sister; nonno - grandfather; papa - father; idiota - idiot; si - yes; buon a nulla - good-for-nothing; narratore - storyteller; lestofante - swindler; musicista - musician; ingrata - ingrate (feminine); lasciami! - get off me!; sciocco principe - foolish prince; mago - magician; ti voglio bene - I love you/I like you (usually platonic); anch'io ti voglio bene - I love you too; sei perdonato - you are forgiven/I forgive you**

**More on Holy See: Himaruya once said that Vatican City (or Holy See) is an old man, but I thought it might make more sense for him to be an adolescent boy since it has only been recognized as a separate entity from Italy in 1929. Also, I am quite fond of the image of him as an altar boy, so I made him young, but with a personality more suited for an old man. He is studious, reserved and very religious, sometimes to the point of zealotry. Oftentimes, he is at odds with Romano who he considers to be sinful, but they are actually quite close despite everything and Holy See usually understands what Romano is trying to say when others can't.**

**I apologize to those who wanted Romano to take revenge. This fairy tale was actually chosen even before Italy's. I think that, although Romano taking out his anger in story form would be satisfying, it would only reinforce his role as the villain, so a story where he shows himself just wanting to be happy, but also being willing to give everything for his brother's happiness, even when it causes him grief, was probably the better choice. In the end, all he wants is to be appreciated and acknowledged just a little bit more and for Italy to do something nice for him every now and then. Of course, since the story's theme was appreciating the efforts of older siblings, he gave Prussia a role as a heroic character, although the two do not get along too well. Besides, since half the conflict in the tale was Prussia's fault, he was just undoing what he had done.**

**History lesson time, now. Quite obviously, Rome losing his strength and dying is symbolic of the Fall of the Western Roman Empire, which I am certain you all know about already. For those who do not know, the fall of the Roman Empire was caused by several factors, among them, the decadence of the emperor and wars waged against neighbouring areas despite a lack of funds. You could almost say that the Rome let itself waste away internally and externally. Their father that was mentioned was Byzantium, the Eastern part of the Roman Empire, which outlived its Western counterpart. Of course, it had limited connections to Italy after the fall of the Western half, which explains why he was estranged from his sons. Greece was chosen as the artisan because the Italians, and the Romans before them, were fond of Greek art and the Italian Renaissance was inspired partly by its "rediscovery". Ancient Greece would have probably been more correct in this situation, but Greece seemed more appropriate for the role. For some time in the past, Southern Italy was occupied by the Arabs and, subsequently, the Spaniards, which is why I chose those two to be the men from whom Romano acquired the marvelous animals, the fact that Turkey (or the Islamic Empire since Turkey did not technically exist back then) and Spain contributed a bit of themselves to Southern Italian culture. **

**Also the phrase of the chapter seems to be "sit down".**


End file.
